Crucio
by ObsidianEmbrace
Summary: When Umbridge subjects Harry to the Cruciatus, Snape intervenes, veering not only his own life off its intended course, but Harry's and Sirius' as well. First story in the Unforgivables trilogy.
1. A Single Pebble

**Crucio**

by ObsidianEmbrace**  
**

_Story Notes: This is the first story in the _Unforgiveables_ trilogy. The entire trilogy is complete. This story begins during _Order of the Phoenix_ after Harry tries to communicate to Snape that he thinks Sirius is in danger. Rated for violence and character deaths. All recognizable characters and settings belong to J.K. Rowling. _

**Drop a pebble in the water, just a splash, and it is gone;  
But there's half-a-hundred ripples circling on and on and on,**

**Spreading, spreading from the center, flowing on out to the sea.  
And there is no way of telling where the end is going to be. **

**("Drop a Pebble in the Water" by James W. Foley)**

~HP~**  
**

**Chapter 1: A Single Pebble**

"Crucio!"

Severus paused on the second to last step at Umbridge's shrill cry.

The pitch and volume of the scream changed very little as Severus turned and went back up the stairs. He could see the little toad's profile, her head bent low as she watched Potter with hungry eyes. All the other eyes in the room were on Potter—even as he was tortured, they couldn't get enough of him. Not even the Slytherins. Snape twitched his fingers and Umbridge's pathetic little wand flew from her stubby fingers and into his own.

Potter went mercifully silent.

Umbridge's fat lips formed a vaguely amusing, and thoroughly shocked 'O' as she spun to face Severus. Before he would be forced to endure her girlish hemming, he explained through still lips, "As I hardly believe you wish passersby to hear such caterwauling, it would be wise to cast a Silencing Spell the next time you wish to punish students." He returned her wand silently.

The woman had gone pale as she took her wand with trembling fingers. But then she drew herself up as much as her short frame would allow, informing him haughtily, "This is official-"

Severus looked down his long nose at the tiny, blathering woman. "Your preferred methods of discipline are none of my concern, Madame. You need not explain them." His lip curled. "Especially those which seem to be so effective in quieting unruly brats," he added with a tight sneer, flicking a black glance at the trembling child on the floor. There was the titillation of subdued laughter from the gathered Slytherins.

Severus glared at them. "It is nearly dinner," he informed them, raising his eyebrow in a command when none of them made any move to release their captives. "You are dismissed," he snapped and with a flourish of movement, his students dispersed, dropping gripped fingers from Gryffindor flesh. Predictably, the boy's mates moved with poorly concealed concern toward his now-unmoving form.

Dark eyes narrowed to encourage the slower moving Crabbe and Goyle to quicken their steps. Young Malfoy gave his grunts pointed shoves and the two husky boys lumbered off at a measurably faster pace.

Malfoy lingered as he rounded the doorframe, his pale fingers curling around the edge as he peered around the room at his wary peers. Severus' mouth sharpened into a disapproving line. Malfoy blinked at him and hastened his exit.

"What's wrong with him?" Granger demanded, her eyes snapping up to Umbridge. Umbridge paid no attention to the girl. She was smiling excitedly up at Severus.

"Well, Professor Snape, as you seem to understand-"

"Yes, I do," Severus reassured her, and then with a concealed twitch of his hand, the woman slumped to the floor.

"Professor?" Granger queried as her fellows allowed their mouths to fall open in utter astonishment.

"Pick him up," the Potions Master snapped to the slack-jawed redhead, ignoring the wild-haired know-it-all. Longbottom moved to assist. Their movements were clumsy. With a muted growl as he lost what little patience he'd entered the room with, Severus flicked his wrists as if the boys were pests. They sidled away reluctantly, and then Severus used his wand to levitate the boy. Potter's head slumped to the side, his black hair covering his closed eyes.

With a jolt of vindictive pleasure as he remembered a night under a full moon two years ago, Severus guided the arrogant brat toward the door. He could feel the indignant stares of his little cohorts as they followed. Not one was brave enough to protest.

_Gryffindors indeed._

Turning slightly as the Weasley girl crossed the threshold, Severus silently chanted a string of locking spells, which Merlin himself would be unable to counter. Satisfied that the unconscious pinked witch would have no choice but to wait for Albus to release her, Severus followed Potter's bobbing body down the stairs and into the corridor.

He glared at gawking students as they stopped to stare at the procession. As soon as they reached the Great Hall, Severus turned sharply to Potter's less-than merry band of imitation Marauders. "I do not require your company," he snapped. Longbottom flinched satisfactorily as he danced a few steps backward. The others remained where they were.

"But we can explain what happened to Madame Pomfrey," Granger said quickly. Severus narrowed his eyes.

"He was subjected to the Cruciatus Curse," he reminded the irritating girl. "What else do you plan to _explain_?" he inquired snidely. When Granger could come up with no other relevant information, Severus ordered all of them to get into the Great Hall. "Now," he commanded. "Or it will be twenty points each." He was, after all, feeling rather generous with Potter floating along like a puppet in front of him.

All of the children began moving at those words, each of them looking very sour. Severus gave them no more thought as he pivoted, and continued on his way to the Hospital Wing, with Potter slumped over the entire way. The position looked entirely uncomfortable. Unfortunate that the brat wasn't awake to feel it.

Poppy looked up from straightening the corner of one of the beds as Potter floated into the room. "Severus?" she asked sharply.

"Umbridge subjected him to the Cruciatus Curse," he explained without preamble, his voice devoid of emotion.

Poppy gasped as she rushed toward him. "Set him down," she directed.

"My pleasure," Severus assured her with a smirk. He ended the spell and Potter landed with a thump on the closest bed. Poppy glared at him.

"Severus," she admonished quickly before she began fussing over the boy, rearranging his limbs so that he looked very like a corpse. Severus smiled. "How did he become unconscious?" Poppy asked, not noticing the state of his lips.

"I have no idea," Severus told her irritably. "He lost consciousness when I took Umbridge's wand and ended the Curse."

Poppy stared at him in confusion. "How long was he under the Curse?" she asked briskly as she came back to herself and began waving her wand over Potter's thin frame.

"A few minutes at most."

"That shouldn't have caused him to pass out," Poppy murmured to herself.

"Potter is weaker than you realize," Severus told the Mediwitch dryly. Poppy gave him a disapproving look before returning her attention to her patient.

"Contact Albus, please," she said distractedly as she continued to wave her wand over Potter. Growling quietly in annoyance, Severus did as she asked, tapping the amulet around his neck three times. He didn't have to wait long until Albus appeared in the Infirmary, grasping the tail feathers of his phoenix. His face immediately fell when he saw Potter, lying pale and pathetic on the crisp bed.

"What happened?" he demanded, moving toward the boy.

"Cruciatus," Severus said tersely. Albus looked up sharply. "Courtesy of the _High Inquisitor_." Albus exhaled a long breath. He took the golden boy's bony hand in his own. Severus' lips turned down as he watched Albus gently caressing the limp appendage.

"It shouldn't have affected him this way," Poppy said, her face twisted in concentration. "Severus says he was only subjected to the Curse for a few minutes. And I can't find anything else wrong with him."

"Perhaps he decided to take a vacation from his adoring fans," Severus suggested mockingly. He raised his eyebrow at the elder pair as they stared at him reprovingly. "Reviving Potion may assist him back to reality," he added, more helpfully as he actually _was_ eager to solve Potter's little problem so that he could return to his quarters and enjoy what little remained of his evening. So like Potter, to think nothing of inconveniencing others.

Poppy retrieved a vial from his storage cupboard, spelling its contents directly into Potter's system. The Reviving Potion had no effect. Severus frowned. There was no reason why the potion should not work. He eyed Poppy and Albus, both of whom were staring in vivid concentration down at the infuriating boy—couldn't even react normally to a simple curse.

"There's nothing else wrong with him?"

"Legilimency?" she asked even as she shook her head and since Severus had already surmised Albus' plan, he was watching the old man with wary consideration, but Albus didn't even look at him. Obviously, he meant to be the one to enter Potter's mind. Poppy nodded briskly and moved away from the bed, allowing Albus to come toward the boy's head.

Albus whispered the appropriate incantation and then the old man was lost for more than a few minutes, as they stretched far too long into the next hour. Finally, with a gasp, Albus broke free from the chains of Potter's mind. He stumbled a bit, and Poppy took his arms to settle him in a chair. Albus' face was filmed with a fine sheen of perspiration.

"Harry's there, but he's trapped in his mind," he said after several deep breaths. Poppy and Snape stared at him. "I can feel him, but I can't draw him out. His conscious mind is barricaded."

Severus made a noise of derision at the news. A Gryffindor who couldn't stand a few moments of pain. _Barricaded himself_, he wanted to sneer scornfully, but Albus was giving him a hard look, so he restrained himself.

"Severus," Albus said, his face softening a little, "Perhaps you will have more success."

Severus frowned. "You are as skilled a Legilimens as I."

"You are more familiar with the finer attributes of Harry's mind, Severus," Albus pointed out calmly.

"I am familiar with his Muggle relatives and their rather unorthodox treatment of your precious Potter. I have no experience in releasing arrogant brats from self-inflicted barricades."

Albus sighed. "We can't simply leave Harry in this state, Severus," he reminded the younger man, piercing him bitterly, as he always did with the importance of his enemy's son.

"Fine," Severus bit out, sweeping closer to Potter, and giving Albus no chance to gloat about his win. With a harsh, "_Legilimens_," Severus entered Potter's mind. But it was only moments later, completely exhausted, that he pulled out again.

_Unsuccessful_. The word grated against his conscious mind. And the disappointment radiating from Albus' blue eyes was almost too much to bear. Severus set his jaw as Albus sighed deeply before he excused himself to have a word with Umbridge, who was still locked in her office.

Severus was still stewing in his failure when the Headmaster returned. He looked very displeased.

"We will simply have to try again," Poppy said determinedly at the news that Umbridge had been no help.

"Perhaps we need someone who Harry is comfortable with," Albus mused thoughtfully. "Someone he trusts… Sirius, perhaps."

Severus snorted derisively. Black had no training in Legilimency. It was ludicrous, but Albus was already nodding. "The two of you together should-"

"Are you mad?" Severus spun back around to face Albus.

"We have tried both you and I, Severus. Even Dolores doesn't know what she did to him," Albus answered, sounding even less enthused by the prospect than Severus was.

"I won't do it," Severus said stubbornly. "Black? You can't ask this of me."

"You agreed to do all that I asked, Severus."

Severus jaw trembled. How dare he fight that way—with _that_ promise? But he didn't allow himself to speak, knowing he was close to losing control. He simply turned away again and went to wait near Poppy's office. He could hear the Mediwitch and Albus exchanging words briefly before Albus ordered Fawkes away. Only moments later, Severus heard the magical bird flashing back into the room. A sharp gasp broke the otherwise silent air and Severus flinched at the next sound.

His adversary's voice.

"Harry," Black breathed, his tone nauseatingly timid. "What happened?" he asked; Severus tuned out Albus' response. He spent the intervening minutes Occluding his mind; he would not allow Black any glimpses into his mind. Even Potter had managed to see too much. And Severus was well aware of how much delight the Animagus would find in the miseries of his childhood.

"Severus."

Severus spun around smoothly at the quiet summons. He would not appear weak in front of Black. Black was staring at him, his face at least a shade paler than it normally was and he almost looked like he had recently emptied the contents of his stomach. Somehow, it was not at all comforting that Black was at least as distressed as he about what they were about to do.

"Sirius, if you would move a little so that Severus may stand next to Harry's head," Albus directed the other man. Black hesitated, giving Severus a warning look. Severus shook his head in derision.

"I have no plans to harm your precious godson," he spat. Black glared at him, and he moved only enough for Severus to barely fit in the space between him and the stone wall, though Severus noticed, with a twisted smile, that there was enough room so that their arms did not touch.

"Are you ready, Sirius?" Albus inquired. Black nodded jerkily and without any more warning than that, Severus pointed his wand at his enemy's head and chanted the spell that would allow him to piggy-back Black's consciousness onto his own and then with a quick spell, Severus entered Potter's mind once more.

"Sirius?" Harry gasped croakily as he found his godfather sitting on the edge of one of the Infirmary beds. _What the hell were they doing here?_ Sirius grasped his arm as he struggled rather wildly to sit up.

"Easy there," he chided but even as he said it, he was guiding Harry gently upward, and then he found himself wrapped in a crushing hug so tight, he couldn't breathe.

"I thought you were dead," Harry mumbled against his shoulder.

"I'm all right."

Harry pulled back, his green eyes studying his face, as though he was trying to make certain of that. "But I saw Voldemort. And you were with him," he protested. Sirius frowned at him.

He held Harry's gaze for a long moment and finally sighed. "Voldemort has been sending you visions. He's been attempting to lure you to the Ministry of Magic. I was never with him."

"Visions?" Harry repeated with wide eyes. "Why?" he asked, his stomach turning at the idea that Voldemort had manipulated him so easily. Sirius sighed. Harry listened intently as his godfather explained about the Prophecy that Voldemort coveted. And Harry was more than a little disturbed that Sirius had no idea what was in the prophecy. But of course, Dumbledore knew. Harry scowled at that.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowing in anger at his godfather when he'd finished his explanation. Sirius sighed again as he brushed his hair back from his face.

"Dumbledore thought it best that you didn't know," he answered with a grimace. Harry stared at him.

"I was about to go to the Department of Mysteries to rescue you." He exploded out a breath with the words. Sirius' eyes widened in alarm.

"You were _what_?" he demanded softly as he leaned forward. "Harry," he breathed, but he seemed not to be able to figure out the rest of what he wanted to say as he stared at his godson with horror, and Harry somehow found the need to defend himself.

"Well, I thought he was going to kill you, and I couldn't just stay here and let-"

"Typical Gryffindor," a dark voice drawled and Harry looked up to find Snape towering over his bed, his menacing eyes peering down at him. "Charging in recklessly with absolutely no information-"

"I didn't have any information, because no one's talking to me," Harry snapped up at the Potions master. "What the hell was I suppose to do, just let Voldemort kill Sirius?"

"Five points for interrupting me, Potter and five more for your language," Snape told him smoothly, paying no attention to Harry's question, or Sirius' sudden frown.

"Was there something you needed?" Sirius asked Snape pointedly. Snape spared him only the smallest glance, before turning his attention back to Harry.

"Hold out your hand," he ordered. Harry blinked up at him, understanding immediately what Snape wanted to see.

"Why?" he asked, feigning ignorance. Snape narrowed his eyes and reached forward as though to snatch what he wanted. Sirius moved swiftly, making a solid wall between his godson and his antagonist.

"Don't touch him," he growled, his voice almost as dark as Snape's always managed to be. Snape narrowed his eyes; they glittered with hate.

"Such concern for your godson," he spat sarcastically. "So much, in fact, that you _must_ know how much time he has spent in detention with Umbridge."

Sirius glared at Snape. "What the hell do a few detentions have to do with Harry's hand?" he demanded. Snape leered at him, his eyes suddenly filled with morbid vindication.

"Show him your hand, Potter," he ordered mercilessly. Harry tucked his scarred hand beneath the crisp bedclothes.

"Nothing's wrong with my hand," he insisted, his chin lifting a little as he stared in challenge at his professor. He wasn't going to let Snape have the satisfaction, and besides, he'd dealt with Umbridge on his own all along. He didn't need to worry Sirius over it. But it only took a few seconds for Sirius to turn away from Snape and find all he needed to know as he took in his godson's defiant stance…and the boy's concealed hand.

"Harry," he said softly, his grey eyes filled with worry, "let me see your hand." Harry's traitorous hand twitched under the sheet. Sirius' eyes were drawn to the lump and then with a gentle movement, he drew it from its concealment. He gasped as he read the raw, reddened words. "What did she do to you?" he whispered. Harry shifted in discomfort at the pitying sadness in his godfather's words. He tugged a little on his hand but Sirius wouldn't let go.

"It was just lines," Harry told him, tugging a bit more firmly but it was no use. "I'm all right," he tried to tell his godfather, but Sirius was staring at him, his eyes huge.

"Lines?" he echoed; his other hand closed over Harry's. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked hoarsely.

Harry wished Sirius would let go. He didn't need to be coddled. "There was nothing you could have done," he tried to explain.

Sirius shook his head, but before he could disagree, Snape was interrupting again to observe snidely, "_You_ could have attempted to learn to control your impulses, Potter, and then Umbridge would not have felt it necessary to give you quite as many lessons on the subject."

Sirius jerked around, and finally Harry's hand was free again. He wasted no time in folding his arms over his chest so that the words were buried under his armpits.

"You knew about this?" Sirius demanded, his hands balling into furious fists at his sides. Snape's upper lip curled into a disdainful sneer.

"As much as I enjoy the idea of your best friend's spawn getting what he deserves, I would have had no choice but to report any such treatment of the golden boy to Albus," he practically snarled, as if he wished he could somehow make certain that Harry spent many more hours in Umbridge's office.

Sirius' knuckles turned white as he stared at Snape coldly. "What do you _want_, Snape?" he asked for the second time.

"You can inform Poppy that there is no potion to repair the scars on Potter's hand," Snape said through thinned lips. And then not waiting for a response, he jerked a medallion on a small chain out of his pocket and thrust it at Sirius, so that his clenched fingers were only centimeters from the other man's face. "Use this to contact me," he ordered. "Even one as imbecilic as Potter, should be unable to lose it if it is around his neck."

Harry bristled at the insult, but he deflated instantly as he realized he had no idea why Sirius should need to contact Snape. He watched as Sirius held out his hand for the necklace. Snape uncurled his pale fingers; the chain chinked delicately as it landed in Sirius' palm.

"What is that for?" Harry asked, his voice filled with an anxiety he hated. "Why do I need to be able to contact you?"

He didn't like the way Snape looked at him; he looked almost pleased. "Your _godfather_ hasn't told you?" he inquired with a smirk.

"Told me what?" Harry asked, with eyes narrowed in suspicion. Snape leered at him.

"That your life is in _my_ hands."


	2. Thrown Down

**Chapter Two: Thrown Down**

Harry stared at Snape.

Snape's normally grim face remained contorted in an almost-gleeful sneer; a chill ran down Harry's spine. "What do you mean?" he asked quickly, grateful that his voice remained steady, even as his heart sputtered erratically.

"Don't exaggerate," Sirius snapped to Snape and then turned a little again so that he was blocking Harry's view of the cold-faced professor. "Do you remember anything that happened?" he asked, his voice softening as he addressed Harry. Harry tilted his head as he tried to figure out exactly what he was supposed to be remembering.

"I was in Umbridge's office, and then I was here," he shrugged. "Did I pass out?"

Sirius, his face pinched oddly, shook his head. "She subjected you to Cruciatus," he explained and Harry nodded. He remembered her threatening to do something like that.

"Do you remember anything after that?" Sirius asked.

"Albus told you he wouldn't remember it," Snape said. Harry twisted his neck to look at the professor. He ignored Harry's reproachful look. "This is the first time he's even been lucid."

"I know," Sirius snapped, not even bothering to look at the other man as his grey eyes continued their study of Harry's face.

"What's going on?" Harry asked.

"Umbridge's curse had an unforeseen effect on you…" Sirius paused; there was an irritated sigh from above and Snape was glaring down at them again. That seemed to make Sirius find his voice again, apparently not wanting Snape to explain. "You've been subjected to the curse four times in the last three days," he continued.

"And each time, the only way to get you out it was for Snape and I to enter your mind… together. You construct some sort of barricade in your mind whenever the curse strikes you," he rushed on when Harry could only stare at him in total perplexity, "and the only person who can dismantle it is Snape. Dumbledore thinks it's because he ended the original curse in Umbridge's office."

"I've been randomly attacked by Cruciatus for three days?" Harry repeated in disbelief. He twisted a little to see around Sirius, who was nodding in resignation by now. At least now he understood why Snape was gloating. What could possibly give the man more pleasure than to watch him suffer? And to wield such power over him…

"We don't know how this happened, and neither Pomfrey nor Dumbledore have any idea how to stop it," Sirius tried to apologize, but somehow Harry wasn't surprised by the news. Umbridge had probably dreamed this up especially to torment him. The Blood Quill could only satisfy her for so long, he supposed.

"But you said you entered my mind _with_ Snape," he reminded his godfather, wanting to understand what all this would mean until someone could find a way to counteract the curse.

"I had to," Sirius nodded. "You wouldn't allow anyone else in your mind. You only allowed Snape in when he brought me along."

"Brought you along?" Harry echoed.

"Yes, Potter, " Snape snapped at him. "Has the curse affected your hearing as well?" he asked, his voice draped in sarcasm. Sirius pivoted around to glare at him.

"You've delivered your message, Snape," he said coolly, "and I really can't think of any other reason for you to be here now, unless you enjoy our company more than you're willing to admit…" he trailed off in suggestion. Snape glowered at him, and then favored Harry with a fierce snarling frown before gathering his black robes around himself and sweeping away from the bed and out into the corridor.

Harry watched him go, his skin prickling in apprehension. "Do you really think you should have done that?" he asked, turning back to study his godfather's smirking face. "If he's the only one who can stop the curse, he's right…my life _is_ in his hands," he said uncomfortably. Sirius' face grew grim. He sat on the edge of Harry's bed, leaning his palms close to Harry's legs.

"Don't worry about that, Harry. He was exaggerating. He can't leave you like that…as much as he might wish to," he finished darkly. When Harry didn't look convinced, Sirius assured him, "Dumbledore told me that Snape vowed his loyalty to him many years ago. A wizard's oath," he elaborated, "is unbreakable."

Harry considered that. "Then Snape really is on our side?" he concluded. "Even though he was a Death Eater?"

Sirius nodded, shrugging slightly. "I admit I would have preferred to think of him as a traitorous coward, but not right now. Dumbledore assured me that Snape has no other choice but to keep you safe," he said seriously. Harry shuddered. He liked it even less that Snape apparently had to help him. It meant only that he couldn't let him die. There wouldn't be anything to stop him from being unnecessarily cruel.

"He won't hurt you, Harry," Sirius interrupted his thoughts, startling Harry at how close he had come to reading his mind. "I won't let him."

Harry focused again at that statement. "You won't be able to stop him from Grimmauld Place," he said in resignation, trying not to let his voice betray his disgruntlement. Sirius couldn't help his circumstances, after all.

Sirius squeezed his hand, his mouth forming a gentle smile. "I'm coming with you to the Dursley's," he said. Harry stared at him.

"You are?"

"Of course, Harry," Sirius chuckled lightly. "You can't be left alone now, and besides, you need me just as much as you need Snape to undo whatever Umbridge did to you," he reminded him. Harry felt himself grinning. It was the worst possible reason to have a companion during his stay with the Dursleys, but it made his heart feel lighter anyway.

"We'll only stay a few weeks to satisfy the blood wards," Sirius added, "and then you can come live with me at Grimmauld-"

It was utterly childish, not to mention, completely embarrassing, but Harry did it anyway. He threw himself at his godfather, wrapping his arms tightly around him. _Live with him_. Like he should have been doing for the past two years. And it only took a reverberating curse to finally make it happen.

Sirius, startled by the sudden weight in his arms, went silent. But his surprise only lasted a second, before he responded quickly and pulled his godson in close. "Hey," he said gently when Harry only moved tighter against his chest, "it's all right, Harry. I promise you that I won't let anything happen to you, all right?"

Harry couldn't explain that it wasn't fear that drove this embrace, and he ignored the many questions buzzing around in his head, to simply nod in acceptance of his godfather's promise. They'd have time to talk about everything later. All summer, in fact. He could ignore, as well, the shadowing curse that had driven them together. It didn't matter anyway, Harry told himself silently. None of it mattered. Sirius was safe. They could be a family now.

Harry lightly fingered the amulet that hung heavily around his neck, as he watched the Hogwarts Express pull away from the station. He didn't have any more answers, especially to his most pressing question of why he'd woken up only after the fourth time that Sirius and Snape had ended the curse. Not even Dumbledore had any answers, and he'd personally questioned Umbridge, who, Harry was pleased to discover, was awaiting trial for the use of a forbidden magical artifact, abuse against minors, and the use of an Unforgivable. Azkaban would shortly become her new home.

"Are you ready?" Sirius asked, though he was hidden under one of Dumbledore's Disillusionment Charms, rendering him virtually invisible. It was odd to find a disembodied voice completely comforting.

Harry nodded, hoisting his bag more securely over his shoulder. The train was just disappearing from sight. It had been hard to watch his friends go, but Sirius had told him that he could invite them for a visit once they returned to Grimmauld Place. Harry had told both Ron and Hermione about Umbridge's curse, and they'd both promised to find out as much as they could about the possibility of counter-curses. Harry didn't hold much hope of them finding answers. Not if Dumbledore hadn't a clue how to solve this.

"Yeah," Harry finally answered when he could no longer see the scarlet train. The weight of what was happening to him had finally sunk in sometime after breakfast, when Ron had looked ready to pass out at the news that Snape, out of all the possibilities, was the only person who could end the curse.

And then even more when Hermione had asked, rather shrilly, "Four times? Do you have any idea what sort of damage the Cruciatus Curse can do to you, Harry?" Sirius had interrupted then to tell the pair that Harry needed to rest.

"You've never side-alonged, have you?" Sirius was asking, and Harry shook his head. "I'll need to hold onto you," Sirius told him, a smile in his voice.

"It's sorta hard when I can't see you," Harry smiled, and then he found his godfather's arms wrapped around him.

"This'll be extremely unpleasant, so hold on tight," Sirius advised. Harry squeezed around Sirius' middle as hard as he could. Sirius chuckled and then Harry was turned inside out.

He didn't know how much time had passed, if indeed any had passed at all, but he was standing in the shade of a large tree, at the end of Privet drive. Sirius' arms stayed around him, kept him steady as the waves of disorientation passed through him.

"All right now?" he finally asked when Harry's breathing had evened out again. Harry nodded, and then the hold slackened and Harry stepped away. He stared silently down the street, at the house he had spent most of his life hating. He found he didn't hate it quite as much right now. He took a deep breath as he felt his godfather's comforting hand on his shoulder.

"They'll piss themselves when they find out who you are, you know," Harry told him with a small smile. Sirius laughed and clapped him soundly on the shoulder.

"Let's not wait then," he said, his voice full of mock-seriousness. Harry grinned and they made their way to number four together. Harry steeled himself, feeling the fleeting memories of childhood fears, and then he was rapping his knuckles sharply against the door.

He could hear Petunia's shrill voice beyond, arguing with a deep-voiced Vernon. He didn't hear Dudley, but that wouldn't mean anything. He was probably cowering in silent trepidation behind his mummy's skirts. The elder Dursleys seemed to arguing whether or not to try to make a mad dash for the family car. Sirius, with a sigh of irritation, solved the problem, with something that sounded suspiciously like a booted foot, and the door was thrown open with a loud bang. The Dursleys, all three of them, were cowering on the other side, their eyes wide with terror.

But all they could see was Harry, and Uncle Vernon's face immediately shifted in anger. "You ungrateful brat," he began sputtering, his face red. He moved toward Harry, his arm stretched outward as though to grab his nephew, but Sirius was faster. He took Harry's arm and steered him away from any harm, and then the door slammed shut. Vernon didn't even falter. "You're not to do any of that freaky stuff here, boy!" he shouted, his chest huffing and puffing as he lunged for Harry once more.

Sirius materialized in front of his target, and Vernon's face went white. He froze in mid-step. Petunia screamed, while Dudley moved faster than Harry would have thought possible, to cower in a far corner of the sitting room. Petunia ran pell-mell after him, scrunching herself down, trying to cover as much as Dudley as possible, presumably attempting to hide her precious son from the mass murderer towering over their entryway.

"What in—what is…" but Vernon could only stammer his aborted queries before Sirius was leaning down to speak directly into his flabby face.

"If you so much as look like you're thinking of touching my godson again, I will kill you more slowly than I have ever killed anyone before," he said in a soft, serious voice. Vernon's mouth opened and closed a few times in response. Sirius, satisfied that he'd made his point, straightened up again. "Harry will only be here for three weeks, and," he added with a smile, "I will be staying as well."

There was another scream from Petunia, muffled this time, by the pillow she was holding in front of her face now, and Vernon looked close to fainting. But neither of them tried to protest. Sirius nodded at them, in seeming politeness before turning to Harry. "Why don't we go get settled in your room?" he suggested. Harry nodded, fighting hard to keep the smile off his face. Sirius ushered him up the stairs first, following closely behind him.

"This is your room?" he asked when they'd reached the padlocked door. His jaw was quivering now, and he looked about to head back down the stairs. Harry grabbed his arm before he could move.

"They're not worth it, Sirius," he said quietly, pulling his godfather along with him as he entered the familiar room. It felt strange to be here without Hedwig, but she'd stayed at Hogwarts, as she wouldn't be able to roam free at Grimmauld Place. Sirius made a quiet noise that Harry recognized as anger, but he didn't make any more sudden movements toward the stairs, so Harry let go of his sleeve.

Harry plopped his bag in the middle of his bed; his trunk would be waiting for him at Sirius' house, and then he stood where he was in the middle of the room, feeling awkward. Sirius' grey eyes were roving the room, straying much too long at the bars at the windows, the tattered mattress and blankets, the dingy furniture…

"Azkaban is too good for them," Sirius said, shaking his head as his eyes snapped in fury. Harry wanted to shrug, but he couldn't quite manage it and then he was startled as Sirius turned abruptly to him. "Did that lout ever hurt you?" he demanded, his voice deadly quiet. Harry sighed. Sirius' eyes widened.

"No, he didn't," Harry said hastily as Sirius' breathing became shallower. "He would have probably shaken me up a little if he'd managed to catch me downstairs," he explained. "He's too big a coward to do anything more."

"Only a coward would hurt a child," Sirius returned, his eyes darkening. They refocused sharply on Harry. "Do you swear, Harry, that Vernon Dursley has never laid a hand on you?" he asked, and oddly, Harry found himself a wee bit nervous at his godfather's stern tone. He nodded though.

"I promise, Sirius," he confirmed, glad he didn't have to lie. After all, all the times Uncle Vernon had tossed him in his cupboard wouldn't really count, even though he _had_ had to touch his elbow to accomplish it. Sirius studied him for a long minute, before nodding, and then with a weary sigh, he slumped on the bed. He clasped his large hands in his lap, before pinning Harry with a very serious look.

"You should have told me what was happening here," he admonished in a low voice. Harry tried to remain unaffected.

"I was all right," he reassured his godfather. Sirius gave him an incredulous look.

"You have a rather strange notion of what it means to be all right," he said with a shake of his dark head.

Harry smiled a little, but he didn't respond. Sirius gave him a look that made Harry think they would be revisiting this conversation at a later date. Probably sooner rather than later, as there wouldn't be much to do around here, since they couldn't leave without Sirius being concealed in some form or another, but at least he could be bored _with_ someone this summer, and maybe Sirius could help him with his assignment.

"How about a game of wizard's chess?" Sirius asked suddenly and Harry grinned. This would definitely be an improvement over summers past.

Sirius bolted up. Harry's face was contorted in the familiar grip of pain, illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the un-curtained windows. Sirius caught Harry before he could fall sideways off the bed. He was already doubled over on his side, in agony; the curse seemed to be working more swiftly than it had in the infirmary.

With Harry still writhing, and his screams filling the room, Sirius tapped the amulet. He hoped that Snape would come quickly. But it was too many minutes of Harry's course screaming, before Snape finally flung open the door; his face was oddly white and he was moving much faster than Sirius would have thought he would have, given that it was Harry in pain.

Before he'd even crossed the threshold, Snape had already chanted the counter-incantation for the Cruciatus. Harry stopped screaming. Sirius sighed in relief, running his fingers gently through his godson's black hair.

"We need to get out of here," Snape snarled from above them, and Sirius looked up in surprise to see Snape moving intently toward them.

"What?" Sirius asked, bewildered. "Why? And what about Harry?" he demanded indignantly. The impossible git was going to just leave Harry trapped in his mind? And where they hell could they possibly need to go?

"The Blood Wards have fallen," Snape spat out. "The Dark Lord is-"

But there was no need, nor time, for any other explanations. There was the sound of an explosion, and it took Sirius a second to realize that it was coming from inside the house, and then there were the sounds of scuffling, rushing footsteps below them. Sirius, his eyes widening in panic leapt up from the bed. He hoisted Harry into his arms, intending to Apparate out of the house.

Footsteps were echoing on the stairs.

Before Sirius had a chance to protest, Snape was wrenching Harry from his arms. "You won't be able to Apparate." And with that, Snape turned on the spot and was gone, taking a still-unconscious Harry with him.

Four masked Death Eaters crowded through Harry's open door, their wands aimed squarely at Sirius' chest.


	3. Splash

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 3: Splash

Severus came back to himself, stumbling a bit with Potter's weight so unevenly distributed in his arms—Potter was teetering enough so that his head was flopping so far backward, Severus thought that it might simply snap right off his neck. Deciding Dumbledore would consider a decapitated Potter not in keeping with his vow, Severus shifted him so that his head rested more securely in the crook of his elbow. Not wanting Potter in his arms for even a second longer than was necessary, Severus hurried past the boundary lines of the wards, chanting a wandless Alohomora as soon as they reached the plain wooden door.

Severus wasted no time in relieving himself of his burden, depositing Potter without much thought to how he would land, on the worn settee. With Potter's head no longer in danger of separating from his body, nor in contact with any part of him, Severus went back to the open door and with a few terse words, he sent his silver Patronus into the starless night. Sparing only a second to watch Lily's doe canter away, he closed the door solidly, using the same locking Spells he had used on Umbridge's office door.

Grimacing in distaste, Severus went back over to Potter. He summoned a chair from the tiny kitchen, not wanting to kneel as he was forced to do in the Dark Lord's presence. He would not kneel before Potter.

He knew very well that Albus would be furious—no disappointed, would be the Headmaster's word of choice—about what he was going to do, but he found himself without another choice. He had very little time before he would be summoned, and he had no idea how long he could leave Potter trapped in his mind, without giving him permanent damage.

Brushing aside the nagging of his usually dormant conscience, Severus chanted, "Legilimens," and entered Potter's mind once more. It was becoming disgustingly routine; he didn't even have to navigate anymore. He simply brought his own conscious to where he knew the barrier would be waiting. And it was. A wall that had thwarted Severus five times now.

He had wanted to dismantle the barricade and haul the ungrateful brat out by his proverbial ears the first time in the Infirmary, but Albus had insisted on his usual coddling. "Harry's is a gentle soul," Albus had admonished, to which Severus had rolled his eyes. Potter, just like his sod of a father, was anything but gentle. This would be no worse than any other time the foolish boy had gotten himself into trouble, Severus told himself firmly.

Bracing himself for any ricocheting pain, Severus began pushing against Potter's barricade. The screams, as Severus put his weight against the surprisingly strong defense, were not fearful, not painful. They were simply silent shouts of protest. Just as they had been when Severus had first tried this in the infirmary. But this time, Severus paid no heed. He simply pushed harder, and with each passing minute, the screams became louder, more insistent, and Severus could actually feel Harry's flailing limbs against his knees. He shoved harder at Potter's fading barricade, until finally, Potter's mind was soaked in agony, and then Severus began tearing, clawing at the barrier, raising his shields higher to escape the pain he was creating in both their minds now.

No.

The word reverberated around Severus' thoughts.

Potter was pleading with him to stop.

But he was weakening, so Severus had to ignore the pleas as he pushed forward, stripping Potter of every feeling of security and dignity he might have had. An attack, where Black's had been a gentle caress, and Potter had simply allowed his shields to fall as soon as he felt his godfather's presence.

But here, now with his teacher, Potter was not willing to give in. Severus could feel his hatred…his terror. Severus dug as deep as he could, ignoring his own unease, and with a final silent hiss that chilled Severus to his core, Potter's barricade fell.

Potter was free.

Severus reached through the rubble and wrenched him out of his forced imprisonment. Potter screamed silently against the assault, but his struggles stilled as Severus forced him back to reality.

So weakened by his efforts, Severus almost couldn't pull himself out, but Potter's unconscious mind was beginning to find purchase.

He forced himself to retreat.

It took more effort than it should have. More energy than he had, but finally he too was free.

Slumping against his chair, Severus was unable to keep up a pretense of cool fortitude. And to his horror, he found his hands trembling, shaking uncontrollably. Swearing softly, Severus drew in a slow breath, occluding his mind and effectively detaching the experience from his emotions. His knees wavered only the tiniest bit as he stood and moved away from the boy, who was drenched in sweat. His body was only half on the settee now, his limbs bent in agitated angles.

Severus made himself turn away from the picture of utter defeat, and went to the washroom to prepare himself to meet the Dark Lord.

--

Agony.

Harry didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to look up and have to see Snape's smirking face. Not until he could stop shaking.

Even after he'd wound his fingers tightly together, still they trembled. And his teeth were chattering noisily against one another. Snape would sneer at him, and call him weak. Tell him he deserved it, that he'd finally gotten his comeuppance for all those years of doing exactly as he pleased, and getting away with it.

And if he opened his eyes, he'd have to see Sirius as well. He didn't want Sirius to see the betrayal he knew would be in his eyes. It couldn't have been his fault. Sirius had said that Harry had allowed him into his mind before. Had been able to free him...gently.

Snape's approach had been anything but gentle, and Harry felt his stomach roiling with bile as he tried to steer his thoughts away from the pain he was still feeling. Pain that wasn't even real. Not real, he told himself firmly. Snape hadn't actually done anything to him. He hadn't hit him, hadn't thrown dead cockroaches at him.

Harry kept up this mantra, but it did little good. He still didn't want to open his eyes. He squeezed them tightly closed once more, before with a deep breath, Harry made his face relax and finally allowed his eyelids to smooth their wrinkles, and finally he pulled them apart.

But nobody was there. The room was empty. With a rush of panic as he realized he wasn't lying on Dudley's worn spread, Harry clawed at the cushions beneath him as he tried to sit up. There were heavy footsteps coming from a dark corridor stretching out from the bare room, and then Snape, in silky black robes, was coming straight for him.

To rip him from where he was hiding.

Harry scrambled to his feet, losing his balance twice as he tried to stand. Harry backed up as Snape strode across the threshold; Harry thudded into the solid surface behind him. He tried to push back the fear as he looked into the soulless black eyes. The way they were flashing in irritation didn't help.

But Snape didn't stop. He continued on past Harry, who flinched as Snape's arm brushed up against his chest, and then Snape was moving onward into a tiny little kitchen. When Snape was safely past, Harry swallowed through the thick twist of his throat, trying to push down the irrational fear he felt bubbling upward.

But there wasn't anything to be afraid of, he tried to convince himself again as he watched Snape in the flesh. It had only been in his mind. Snape hadn't really hurt him. But Harry's fingers, as they continued to shake, told him otherwise.

Harry watched Snape intently as the professor fiddled with something that looked oddly like a miniature cauldron, and then he kept watching as Snape pivoted back around and stalked past him again to rifle through some papers on a rickety desk in the corner. Harry finally managed to swallow enough times so that he thought he could speak without his voice giving him away.

"Where's Sirius?" He hadn't quite managed the question smoothly after all. Snape didn't pause in his movements. The silence stretched through the two small rooms. Harry licked his overly dry lips as he waited. "What happened?" he asked after he felt he'd waited long enough. Snape still didn't answer. Harry shifted, knocking up against what felt like a doorknob; it jiggled against his back.

Snape whirled around. Harry cringed back against the door.

"Get away from the door," Snape snapped. Harry stared at him, his feet not moving even as he thought he was telling them to. Snape came toward him with a low snarl. Harry had nowhere to go, but he was still unprepared when Snape grabbed his arm roughly, spun him around and plunked him back down on the settee.

"Sit and be silent," he ordered, his voice sharper than usual as he jerked his fingers back from Harry's flesh. Harry bit his lip as he rubbed at the abused patch of skin, pinking now with Snape's fingerprints. He opened his mouth to ask about Sirius again, but Snape's wand snapped up to wave menacingly in his face. "Don't test me, Potter," he warned.

Harry mashed his lips together, to keep from snapping at the professor. He didn't want a repeat of their experience earlier. Surely Snape could make it even worse the next time he was subjected to the curse. For all he knew, he was Snape's prisoner now, and Snape had killed Sirius-

"The blood wards are no longer in place."

The statement brought Harry out of his panicked musings. His eyes snapped up. Snape did not look at all amused by this bit of news. His lips were stretched in thin lines of disapproval across the lower portion of his face.

"Death Eaters entered as soon as the wards fell. Your godfather could not come with us."

Harry stared up at Snape in utter confusion. Forgetting that Snape had ordered him not to speak, he demanded, "You left Sirius there?"

Snape gazed at him with indifference. "I was ordered by Professor Dumbledore to ensure your safety. Black is not my concern."

"Well, he's my concern," Harry returned, trying to keep his voice as even as Snape's, but it came out too angry. "He's my godfather. We can't just leave him there to fend off Voldemort."

Snape's face shifted in muted anger. "Don't say his name," he hissed, as though the name had burned him somehow, and Harry shifted closer to the back cushions as the resentment radiated from the man.

"You-You Know Who," Harry forced himself to say, "will kill him."

Snape's features had relaxed with Harry's compliance. "It is possible," he agreed easily. "Or perhaps," he said with a laconic shrug, "the Dark Lord will prefer to keep him as bait along with your relatives." Harry's lips parted as he stared at the heartless professor. Bait…

"We have to go back for them," he whispered desperately, slinking forward without meaning to as Snape's words sunk in fully.

Snape leaned in toward him, forcing Harry back again until there was plenty of space between them. "Did you not listen to what I just said, Potter? The wards around your aunt's house no longer exist. You would be killed the instant you stepped onto Privet Drive." Snape was speaking very slowly, enunciating each word.

"But I can't just sit here and do nothing," Harry told him in a strangled voice, though he made certain this time that he stayed well away from Snape.

Snape's eyes narrowed into slits. "That is precisely what you will do, Potter. Sit here, until I return."

Harry stared up at the man. Snape was mad. Harry was sure of it. Snape had heard him in the Infirmary. How he'd explained that he had only been minutes away from finding some way to get to the Ministry to save Sirius. And yet the professor had purred the order without any sort of hesitation, and he was actually expecting Harry to obey.

But it seemed Snape was actually expecting the exact opposite. With his mouth turned down at the corners, Snape waved his wand and Harry felt an odd sort of sensation, a pressure forcing his backside to sink deeper into the cushions. Reflexively, Harry wriggled as he sunk down, trying to push himself up from the settee. He was stuck. His eyes darted to Snape.

"What are you doing?" he asked, surprised by how meekly his voice echoed in the run-down room.

"I am neither stupid nor naïve, Potter," Snape told him sourly as he re-adjusted his robes for the third time since he'd entered the room; he still held his wand. "You will remain here."

He pivoted on his heel, not waiting for Harry to respond.

"Wait!" Harry cried hoarsely as he struggled against the capturing cushion. Snape ignored him completely, finishing his strides to the door. "Please!" Harry heard himself half-whispering desperately as he twisted as much as he could toward the door, but he had no time to hate himself for sounding like a baby. And Snape was already curling around the open door, his black robes slithering around the wood. And then the door was closed again, with a firm thud.

Harry's fingers dug against the cushions as he fought in futile effort to force whatever spell Snape had used, to end itself. He clawed until his fingers were raw from the effort, and the beads of perspiration had slipped past his eyebrows. And then he sat rigidly, the tears of anger and frustration indiscernible from the sweat as he stared at the door.

--

The Mark began to burn almost as soon as Severus put the Locking Spells in place once more. He'd barely had enough time to bury all thoughts of Potter. At least he had had a chance to put a block in the boy's mind. The Dark Lord would be unable to find anything but worthless thoughts of Quidditch matches and lazing about with his friends. The Dark Lord would be very bored indeed.

Grimacing against the pain along his left arm, Severus straightened his robes once more before masking himself, and then he strode beyond the wards and Apparated to his second master.

Number Four Privet Drive was burning.

He couldn't see it of course. Not from the front yard of what used to be Riddle Sr.'s grand estate where Yaxley was waiting for him. But it was the first bit of news the other man relayed, his eyes full of fervor. Severus nodded in appreciation at the news, not surprised at all that the Dark Lord had given such an order. Not once he would have realized that he'd been foiled once again.

By a boy. Always by a mere child.

Severus wondered fleetingly if Potter's relatives were still alive. It was likely at least one of them would be. He didn't need to spare any thought to Black. Yaxley's second pronouncement was that the Dark Lord had a surprise for him.

"Bellatrix wanted to kill him," Yaxley told him as they walked together toward the ornate front door.

"Black is more useful alive," Severus told him smoothly. Yaxley smiled as they ascended the stairs.

"He will be just as useful once you and Bellatrix finish with him," he said, looking very pleased at the prospect.

Severus' lips lifted a little at the thought of Black, bound and waiting for whatever torture the Dark Lord was in the mood for. Pity he would not be able to participate. Albus would be somewhat more than disappointed with that news. Especially as Severus would enjoy the activity a little too much for the Headmaster's tolerance.

The door opened for them as they stepped onto the porch.

The insides were as dim as they always were—lit only with a few candle sconces along the walls toward the sitting room. Severus followed Yaxley, allowing the other man to lead the way as he preferred. The room was strangely quiet, with only two Death Eaters flanking the Dark Lord, who stood squarely in front of the cold fireplace. Yaxley knelt first, bowing his head low before Severus had even dropped to his knees.

Both men remained in their positions until, with an indifferent flick of his fingers, Voldemort vanished their masks, and bid them rise.

"My Lord," Severus and Yaxley said in one voice. The Dark Lord turned his inhuman eyes to Severus.

"Severus," he breathed in his tantalizing voice. "Yaxley has told you that I have a surprise for you?" he asked, though of course, he already knew the answer. Severus nodded humbly anyway.

"Yes, my Lord," he whispered gratefully. The Dark Lord's eyes glowed.

"And have you any news for me?" he inquired, as though he had only a polite interest in the matter. Severus nodded smoothly.

"Dumbledore took Potter through his relatives' Floo earlier this evening."

"And where is he now?" Again, the polite query.

"Dumbledore told me only that Potter would not be found where he is," Severus answered without pause.

The Dark Lord studied his Potions Master. "He trusts you less and less, Severus," he said thoughtfully. "One must wonder if it is truly necessary for you to remain at Hogwarts."

Severus dipped his chin in utmost respect. "Dumbledore's trust in me has not changed, my Lord," he murmured. "He is more worried for the boy's safety than he ever has been. He knows, my Lord, that your time is close," he finished in a reverent voice. The Dark Lord smiled.

"As he should, my Severus," he agreed, reaching out a cracked and yellowed fingernail to caress down Severus' black sweep of hair.

"I will find the boy," Severus promised fervently, bowing his head low again so that the Dark Lord could rest his dead fingers on the top of his head.

"Find him for me, Severus," the Dark Lord echoed quietly. Severus' head fell lower in acceptance of his second master's order. Voldemort withdrew his claws. Severus looked up at him once more. "Your childhood tormentor is yours, Severus. Do with him what you will. But do not kill him," he cautioned. "Harry's relatives might not be enough to lure him here." He smiled as much as his lipless mouth would allow. "They are not fond of him," he explained. "It was easy enough for Lucius to persuade his Aunt to give up her protection of him."

Severus' own lip lifted a fraction in response.

"It was fortuitous that Black arrived when he did," he agreed. It must have seemed an easy decision. Allow Lucius to remove Black from the premises, and to take Harry away from them so that the murderer would never return. Petunia would have been frightened enough to willingly transfer protection of her nephew to the well-bred man. And Lucius could be very persuasive. They would have never known they had more to fear from him than the coward Black.

The Dark Lord gazed at him for a moment before dismissing the discussion with a slight wave of his hand toward the Death Eater to his left. "Wormtail." Pettigrew scuttled forward at the command. "Show Severus where to find your old friend," Voldemort directed without even looking at the little man. Pettigrew winced a little at the reminder of his betrayal and shuffled quickly toward the door. Severus bowed low, grazing his lips against the Dark Lord's knuckles before straightening and following, at a suitable pace, after the rat.

--

**TBC...**

**Author's Note: I am so excited about the excitement for this story. Thank you so much for all your great reviews. Love 'em!**

**Darkxangelx: Thanks for your review!**


	4. Sinking

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings belong to J.K. Rowling.**

**Author's Note: Thanks to my mom, jolisgsd, my new Alpha for this story, and to my mistakes-catcher and general cheer-leader, Jade Sullivan. You are both much appreciated. **

Chapter 4: Sinking 

Severus bit back a sigh as he continued to follow behind Pettigrew. The hunched man was moving much too slowly now. Severus stilled his hand's urge to reach out and propel him forward. There was very little time to waste. The house-elf borrowed from Hogwarts was perfectly capable of babysitting Potter, but there would be too many complications if he was subjected to another Cruciatus so soon.

Before his irritation had a chance to increase, Pettigrew halted in front of the dark opening leading down to the cellar. Pettigrew turned, his overgrown front teeth pressed into his lower lip. "I-I b-best not go with you," the little man stuttered, not quite looking at Severus. Pettigrew _never_ looked at him. "I agi-agitate him," he explained, his lips moving in tiny, smacking movements which made Severus feel vaguely nauseous.

"If you prefer," he agreed with a curt nod, not caring in the least. He simply wanted to get this over with. Pettigrew didn't move though. His eyes were darting back and forth between the shadowed stairs and the corridor leading back to the Dark Lord. His hands were wringing against one another.

"H-He," Pettigrew began stammering again, but Severus, his patience evaporating, waved his hand in a sharp motion.

"I do not require your guidance to find the bottom of the stairs," he informed the rat caustically. Pettigrew paused as he attempted to decipher Severus' sarcasm. He finally nodded jerkily in acceptance, while Severus pretended not to understand his discomfort. He had no time for it. Pettigrew, with one last nervous glance toward the stairs, murmured some inane platitude and scurried away down the corridor, his head still darting to the sides.

Severus straightened, grateful to be left alone. He descended the dank stairs as fast as he dared. And still he reached the lower level much too slowly. The room was damp and cold, lit only by a single torch; the light didn't reach the far corners of the room. But Severus could hear the faint rustlings of life in the darkness. The Dursleys perhaps…or what remained of them.

"Severus, you're late."

Bellatrix turned around slowly, her regal features twisted in a disdainful frown. Severus made no noise of surprise as she revealed Black, pressed up against the wall, his arms and legs spanning outward and held in place with no visible restraints. He looked perfectly whole, except for his eyes. Severus had seen that look in Muggles and Death Eaters alike through the years. He had caused that look more times than he cared to recall.

Severus turned away from the pain in the grey eyes to nod at Bellatrix in appreciation.

"Feeling generous tonight, Bella?" he drawled.

A slow smile spread across her lips. He wasn't certain if the expression made her look more, or less, deranged. She came toward him, her hips swaying as she moved. Her hand swept upward and Severus forced his face to remain perfectly still as she drew the back of her fingers along his cheek in a taunting caress. They had played this game many times since their Hogwarts' days.

"It will be more fun for you, if he's intact," she returned, her head tilting as she studied his dark eyes. The smile became cruel as her mad eyes darted back to Black. "Don't you think so, cousin?"

Black didn't answer; he didn't even look at them. He simply continued to stare straight ahead with dulled eyes. Waiting to die. He would be disappointed, Severus thought with a smirk that no one could see.

"Such disrespect," Severus marveled, allowing his eyes to widen a little in feigned disbelief. "Perhaps you'd best continue with his lessons, Bella," he suggested. Bellatrix turned again to him, her eyes almost glowing with excitement. She looked as though she should be salivating at the mere thought.

"You always did enjoy watching more than participating," she said in her high, unbalanced voice, softening the shrill laughter a bit to get a better effect. Severus raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement, before turning back to Black, who was still watching the opposite wall.

Bellatrix turned to the weary man, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Potter's pain was nothing compared to what Black had been experiencing. This torture was her specialty; Bellatrix had invented the slow treatment, designed to force the victim to bring their worst fears to the front of their minds and to make them re-live them over and over again until their minds were nothing but empty shells.

Moving his fingers delicately so that not even a shadow would be disturbed, Severus directed his own unique spell at Black.

"Don't be afraid to scream, Black, even if this feels like _nothing_ compared to what I wish to do to you," Severus drawled, and Black's eyes moved the tiniest bit at the suggestion. "Bella won't be satisfied with a simple moan," he added with a small smirk, to which Bellatrix laughed her high-pitched cackle.

"Ago vestri vereor," Bellatrix said cooly, and on cue, Black began to scream.

--

Harry tensed as the door creaked open. Dodgy, the house-elf, rushed forward, bowing as Snape swept in. Snape's black eyes flicked very briefly toward him, before settling on the elf. "Has the boy caused you any trouble?" Snape asked, and Harry wondered if the elf would be able to detect the sarcasm.

Dodgy shook his head, his face filled with distress. He was wringing his hands anxiously as he looked back and forth between the two wizards. "Dodgy is not able to persuade young master to eat," he told Snape, looking very sorry indeed for his failure. Snape gave an unconcerned shrug with his fingers, unfastening and flipping his cloak off his shoulders.

He vanished them with a flick of his fingers. "If _young master_ wishes to starve, he may," he informed Dodgy simply. Dodgy fretted with his tea towel, but didn't argue with the wizard who clearly outranked his younger charge. Harry could feel the familiar anger curling at Snape's cold tone, but he didn't give into it. He had too many questions. But Snape didn't wait to be asked any of them.

"We're leaving," he informed Harry curtly. To the house-elf, he ordered, "Return to Hogwarts." Dodgy nodded nervously, though he spared one last sad look at Harry before he disappeared with a loud crack.

Harry didn't ask where they were going, and it was just as well, as Snape didn't look like he was about to divulge any answers. He had been waiting patiently for Snape to return and undo his Sticking Spell. Wherever they were going, he would find some way to get away from Snape. To find someone willing to help him find Sirius…and the Dursleys.

With a wave of Snape's wand, Harry felt his backside lifting up from the sofa cushion. He stood slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements that might startle Snape into attacking him. Snape was watching him carefully as though he expected Harry to bolt. With a sudden frown, Snape's hand lashed out and then Harry's wrist was encircled by immovable fingers; Harry hadn't even had time to flinch away.

He stared at his trapped wrist.

"If you attempt to run, Potter, I will put you in a Body Bind," Snape said calmly as he turned on his heel, giving Harry's arm a sharp tug. Harry did his best to still the tremors that coursed through him as his mind took him toward memories he couldn't quite place. A sharp, callous tug that had forced him to leave the security of his solitude. He didn't want to be out here. With a wild motion, Harry yanked himself backward, away from the assault he knew was coming.

--

Severus turned in surprise, despite himself, at the force behind Potter's extrication. He opened his mouth to verbally flay the ungrateful wretch, but his tongue remained silent, his mouth slightly parted as he stared. Potter was crouching on the floor, his hands thrown over his face in defense of an attack. And he was shaking, course convulsions racking through his underdeveloped frame.

Severus recovered swiftly, and stepped toward the cowering boy, his arm outstretched to haul him back to his feet. Potter tried to scramble backward, his green eyes wild with fear and then with a deep shuddering breath, he began to scream. His body contorted grotesquely as he fell back against the hard floor. Severus, with a foul oath, continued moving forward and crouched next to him.

He hastily uttered the same words he'd first used in Umbridge's office to render the witch unconscious. The screams of agony ceased, and Potter's lips went slack with the release. His eyes remained closed.

"Damn it, Potter," Severus cursed, irritated by the unfortunate timing. He needed to get to Hogwarts to find Albus, or at least Minerva. His earlier message should have sent Dumbledore to the little shack with all haste. After all, his precious Potter had needed him. Pushing away his frustration with Albus, Severus gritted his teeth and prepared himself to enter Potter's mind for the second time that night. He hadn't been expecting another—not so soon after the first.

Severus found the barrier easily, though it seemed to have taken up even more of Potter's mind, blocking off a greater portion. Ignoring that new complication, as well as his memory of his earlier discomfort, Severus prodded the barrier, testing it. There would be no easy entrance. Growling in annoyance, Severus wasted no time, bringing the entire force of his mind to bear against Potter's barrier. Potter had already begun screaming.

The sound echoed like a heartbeat, frantic against Severus' ears. He raised his own shields, attempting to block out Potter's protests, but the part of his mind that was still aware, could hear the agony.

Severus wanted it to stop.

Bracing himself for the ripping sensation, Severus tore wildly against the barricade, desperate to make the horrible sounds cease their frantic track down his spine. Potter was making this too difficult, he realized angrily. Trying to punish him for losing the mutt. Furiously, Severus bore down on the accursed barricade, but with a cry of pure agony, instead of entering Potter's mind, Severus found himself watching Potter writhing against a dusty ground while the Dark Lord lazily tortured him, Pettigrew watching with satisfaction. And then with a sickening lurch, Severus was staring dizzily at Potter as he lay convulsing with continued pain on the dusty floor of Dumbledore's shack.

Severus, his breaths coming in huge, gasping swallows, tempered his rage at being bested by Potter's shields. He couldn't berate him, not while he was unconscious. Swearing loudly for the third time since he'd come through the run-down door, Severus picked himself up from the floor, swiping a quick hand down his robes to rid himself of the dust they'd collected.

Pinching his lips tightly together, Severus slid his hands under Potter's knees and shoulders, not caring this time if Potter's head did snap right off. It would serve Dumbledore right if he lost his Golden Boy, he told himself as he marched with terse steps out of the shack and on toward the barrier. Dumbledore would simply have to find a way to deal with Potter himself. With that comforting thought in mind, Severus turned on the spot, coming back to rights only centimeters from the ornate Hogwarts' gates.

The gates recognized his presence, and opened automatically. He walked swiftly down the path and up the stairs, pausing only when he reached the hulking gargoyles guarding the Headmaster's office. "Bitter Toffee," he recited impatiently, and the stone steps rotated him upward, Potter still dangling in his arms. The heavy wooden door opened obediently. Severus stepped inside, expecting to find the old man behind his desk.

He froze as he saw Albus, slumped in one of his chairs, his eyes rolled back into his head. One of his hands, up to the elbow, was charred black beyond recognition and there was an ornate ring lying on the carpet floor, just under the burnt fingers.

Severus sent a hasty Diagnostic Spell toward the fallen wizard. Albus' heart was beating erratically, and Severus could see instantly that he had been cursed; a powerful dark magic was coursing through his body. He needed to force it from the Headmaster's limbs immediately, or he would die.

Severus looked between the burden in his arms, and the wizard he'd sworn an oath to, almost fifteen years ago. The curse streaming through Dumbledore's body would not wait, but in the time it would take to stop it, Potter's mind could be lost. His jaw firmed in agitation as he forced his eyes from the Headmaster.

Not having time to set Potter down, Severus crossed to the fireplace, gathered a measure of powder in his fingers and flung it into the softly glowing grate. Green flames shot upward, and using as few words as possible, Severus stuck his head through the flames and called for Poppy.

The Mediwitch stepped through a moment later, but Severus was already kneeling over Potter. Ignoring Poppy's gasp, Severus finished forging his shields, shoring them up with added strength, and then he met the barrier once more.

Wasting no time, Severus threw his mind at it, already beginning to fight against the immovable wall.

_No!_

Severus could feel the fear lurking beneath the word, though it radiated fury at him.

_Let me in, Potter_, he raged silently, but as always, Potter wouldn't cooperate. He refused to listen. Severus could hear the screams of rage and terror in the distance somewhere, but he didn't care. Potter was too stubborn. Too full of his own self-importance, not caring about anyone but his worthless friends.

Pain wrapped around his thoughts again as Severus began ripping the barrier down, bit by agonizing bit. He firmed his shields and pressed forward. He could see glimpses through the tiny cracks. Glimpses of a perspiring and muddy Potter as he trudged around a well-kept yard, dragging various garden implements, before dropping to his knees to begin clawing purposefully at tiny weeds in the dirt. And then an older Potter, sitting dejectedly on a Gryffindor window seat as his mind whirled in guilt for a violation of his professor's privacy.

Severus almost paused in surprise as Potter's remorse echoed itself in his mind. He shook himself and pressed forward. The desperate ripping and tearing began anew as Potter, weakened from his efforts, could no longer fight.

A feral cry, and Potter's barrier shattered.

The sound tore through Severus' shields and he was almost forced out again. Barely finding purchase again, Severus reached into Potter's mind. He was hiding behind a piece of wall that had remained erect. Severus grabbed him and jerked him free of the wall with so much force, they were ejected simultaneously.

--

Harry found himself staring into Snape's eyes—into turbulence, where there had always been emptiness. Snape kept his gaze for only a second and then with a jerky movement, he was moving away. Harry scrambled backward at the sudden motion, halting only as he realized Snape was not coming for him. He was striding toward the opposite wall. Harry gasped as he saw Snape's intended target.

Dumbledore was passed out in a chair, with Pomfrey waving her wand frantically over his still form.

Hoisting himself clumsily to his feet, Harry gripped the edge of Dumbledore's desk to steady himself while he watched Snape crouching down in front of the Headmaster. Harry's green eyes widened as they followed Snape's wand, traveling up what should have been Dumbledore's arm. It looked nothing like an arm now, shriveled and blackened somehow.

Without meaning to, Harry had inched closer to the tense trio. The muscles around his stomach twisted themselves in knots. Dumbledore looked dead. Harry tried to settle his breathing, forcing himself not to interrupt whatever Snape was doing, and not only because he wanted Dumbledore's eyes to open again.

"Can you stop it, Severus?" Pomfrey was asking anxiously. Snape didn't answer her, and Harry listened in fascination as he began chanting a string of harsh Latin in a voice that sent foreboding chills down his spine. The words sounded too much like the ones Wormtail had uttered over that black cauldron in the graveyard.

Harry couldn't have said how long they all stood there, but his fingers ached from holding so tightly to the corner of the Headmaster's desk. Finally, with a long hiss of exhaustion, Snape slumped back against his heels.

"The curse has been lifted from his body, but the damage was severe," he rasped out as his chest rose and fell rapidly.

"Will he live?" Pomfrey asked softly as she placed a tentative hand on Dumbledore's arm. Snape nodded once.

"For now," he agreed. Harry's heart seized against his chest.

"What does that mean?" he asked, his voice shallow with his fear. Snape and Pomfrey turned to him, their expressions in direct opposition with one another.

"Mr. Potter," Pomfrey began gently, but Snape, with his eyes blank once more, stood up swiftly so that he towered over both of them, and Pomfrey fell silent.

"He is going to die, Potter," Snape clarified brusquely. Harry felt hot tears gathering in his eyes as the terrible words sank in.

"Severus," Pomfrey admonished quietly, "he's just a boy."

Snape said nothing to that, turning again to wave his wand once more over Dumbledore. "I don't know when he'll wake up," he told the Mediwitch.

Pomfrey nodded, her eyes drooping with grief. "What about Mr. Potter?" she inquired. Harry's lungs filled with course air, having no idea what she meant.

Snape didn't even look at him as he answered, "He will have to remain with me." He looked like he'd swallowed poison.

"There will be more than one objection, Severus," Pomfrey put in quietly, obviously uncomfortable with her own observation. Snape rounded on her.

"I don't give a damn who objects," he told her harshly. Pomfrey frowned at him, but after a moment of the pair staring one another down, she finally nodded.

"It is the safest option," she agreed, albeit with great reluctance as she glanced at the Headmaster. "Albus trusted you," she said, the words so quiet that Harry almost missed them.

"What about Sirius?" Harry finally spoke up, hating the way the question came out so tentatively. But maybe with Pomfrey here…

"Black is alive," Snape tossed out indifferently, his eyes drifting to Dumbledore.

"With Vol—You Know Who?" Harry questioned, stammering a little as Snape turned to glare warningly at him.

"The Dark Lord _knows_ you are a fool, Potter," Snape said as he nodded. "He is waiting for you to attempt a rescue," he explained acidly. Harry lifted his chin a little, battling against these strange feelings of fear as he faced Snape.

"Someone can do something, can't they?" he asked quickly, before he lost his nerve. "Maybe Lupin-"

"Professor Lupin was injured, Harry…at your relatives' home. He has been taken to St. Mungo's," she tried to tell him gently, but Harry felt ill anyway, at the news. Lupin as well…

"Are-are the Dursleys' still alive?" he forced himself to ask, not wanting an answer.

"Your aunt and cousin were taken by You Know Who. Your uncle didn't make it," Pomfrey answered delicately. Harry swallowed as the truth soaked into his brain. Uncle Vernon. Dead.

"Was anyone else…hurt?" He didn't want to say the word. Pomfrey closed her eyes briefly.

"Yes, Potter," Snape intervened before Pomfrey could speak. "The Dark Lord rarely takes prisoners, and you should be grateful for that," he said, the vicious words cutting deeply as Sirius' face swam in front of his vision.

"Then we have to get Sirius and-" he tried to tell the two adults, but Snape only made a noise of disgust as he turned away from him.

Pomfrey spared a glance for Snape before saying carefully to Harry, "There isn't anyone who can help him anymore."

--

**A/N: Thanks to all the reviewers. I had some internet troubles this past week, and I apologize if I didin't reply to your review. They are all greatly appreciated. The response to Crucio has been overwhelming, and I thank all of you who read and/or review. Thanks!**


	5. Gone

Chapter 5: Gone

Harry shook his head, silently refusing to believe Pomfrey. There couldn't be nobody. "What about Mad-Eye or-?"

Snape spun around again, his black eyes narrowed in anger. Harry pressed himself against Dumbledore's desk.

"Do you ever listen, Potter?" he demanded. "Or did you really believe that your uncle was the only casualty?" he scathed. Harry stared at him, completely stunned.

"But…" Harry didn't know how to finish, and his head was beginning to pound in time to the rhythm of his heart. So many people. Dumbledore. Dudley. Aunt Petunia…Sirius. "You shouldn't have left him there," he said quietly, sounding like he'd just accused Ron of stealing his share of pudding. Snape's impossibly black eyes only narrowed further.

"You would rather I had allowed the Dark Lord to kill you?" he asked, his voice laden with vitriol. Harry could feel his anger churning against the bile in his stomach.

"You Apparated with me, didn't you?" he asked, taking Snape's silence as an affirmative. "You could have brought Sirius," he argued, straining to keep the anger from bubbling up to the surface; it was almost impossible.

Madame Pomfrey stepped toward Harry, her face full of pity. "Apparition with another person is extremely exhausting, Mr. Potter. It is not wise to attempt it with more than one person."

Harry didn't even look at her. "You could have tried," he insisted, the anger finally turning sharply past his lips.

Snape curled a disdainful lip. "I have no interest in endangering myself with fools' stunts, Potter," he said pointedly. Harry felt his jaw trembling as he thought of Sirius, Voldemort's prisoner now, being tortured in ways that Harry didn't even want to imagine.

"And if he dies?" he bit out. Snape gazed down at him, aloof.

"He would not be the first," he answered without a trace of regret.

"Not the first you've killed for Voldemort, you mean?" Harry asked disdainfully. Snape's features shifted. He stepped forward furiously. Harry moved hastily backward, slamming his hip into the corner of the desk as he tried to get out of the professor's path. He gave a sharp cry, tears stinging against his eyes. He shook his head to dispel the tears, disgusted that a little pain would make him cry.

Snape halted. If he hadn't been Snape, Harry would have said he look confused.

Pomfrey came to stand between them. "Are you all right, Mr. Potter?" she asked with concern. Harry, sliding his eyes away from Snape, nodded while he bit his lip. The pain had blossomed, but there was no need to let Snape know that he'd succeeded in hurting him.

"I'm all right," he assured Pomfrey hurriedly. He kept his hands still, though he would have preferred to rub his fingers over the aching burn. Pomfrey narrowed her eyes briefly, and Harry shifted under her gaze. With a curt nod, Pomfrey turned to Snape.

"Severus, a word if you would," she said stiffly. Snape scowled at her.

"I do not need a lecture, Poppy," he told her acidly. Pomfrey returned the frown.

"If you are going to care for Mr. Potter, Severus-"

"Care for him?" Snape repeated, his face pinched in a sour expression. "I am not Potter's guardian, neither is he my ward. I have no choice but to allow him to remain with me. He can care for himself," he told her.

"He is a fifteen year-old boy, Severus," Pomfrey argued, looking quite shocked. Snape looked as if he might launch into a lengthy speech about the reasons he wanted nothing to do Harry Potter. But he didn't have a chance.

"I can take care of myself," Harry interjected, his voice paler than it should have been.

"Amazing, Potter," Snape drawled. "Imagine…the hero of the wizarding world managing to get himself dressed and fed."

Pomfrey sighed. "I wasn't talking about his food and clothing," she said in exasperation. Snape turned toward the door.

"I do not need any advice about keeping Potter alive," Snape told her in a blank voice, not even looking at her. "We're leaving, Potter," he snapped.

"What about Sirius…and my aunt and cousin?" Harry asked, staying exactly where he was, even though he had a feeling Snape would not allow him to remain latched onto Dumbledore's desk. "You're just going to let them be tortured?"

Snape turned around slowly. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. When he spoke, his words sent chills along Harry's spine. "I do not care if they are killed, Potter. For the last time, they are not my concern." He paused to let that sink in before he threatened quietly, "Come with me now, or I will toss you over my shoulder and carry you."

Harry's glance at Pomfrey was completely pointless, as she only shook her head, looking frustrated, before giving Harry a resigned shake of her head. Harry swallowed only once and lifted his chin to steady himself.

"I'm not going with you," he stated clearly, and he hated that he could actually hear the thrum of his heartbeat in his ears as Snape glared down in his nose at him.

"You have no other choice," Snape informed him icily. "You have no one else, not if you wish to keep your friends safe."

The truth of Snape's words cut him like a knife. He couldn't go to the Weasleys. Not after what happened to the place that was supposed to protect him the most.

He had no one. Not his friends, not Sirius… Not even the Dursleys.

He did his best to ignore the stab of grief, saying to Pomfrey, "I could stay here and help you take care of Dumbledore." Pomfrey looked regretful, so Harry rushed on, "Maybe when he wakes up, we can figure out a way to find Sirius."

Pomfrey held up a hand, cutting off Snape's next comment. "Professor Dumbledore would want you to go with Professor Snape, Harry," she assured him. "He'll keep you safe, Mr. Potter," she told him briskly, though Harry didn't think she sounded completely convinced.

"Thank you for your confidence in me, Madame," Snape said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. To Harry, he growled, "Move, Potter."

Snape spun around, and after another hesitation during which he wanted to refuse again, Harry forced his fingers to uncurl their deadly grip against the wood and walked slowly toward the door, knowing that both Pomfrey and Snape were right. He had no other choice. Not if he wanted to stay alive. Safe—now that was another thing entirely.

Harry paused as he passed Dumbledore, who looked only to be sleeping peacefully in his chair now. Harry swallowed the huge lump, and turned away. He followed Snape silently out the door.

The castle was eerily empty. Not even Filch was around to make it seem more normal. So Harry could have pretended he wasn't trapped with a man who hated him. Could have pretended that Sirius was waiting for him at Grimmauld Place, or even that he would be going to Privet Drive again. Even spending the summer with the Dursleys would be better than this. He was completely alone, without even a way to get an owl to Ron or Hermione. They could help him figure out where Sirius was—Harry was certain of it.

Harry stopped in surprise as he realized Snape was no longer gliding ahead of him. Harry was staring at his black-robed back as Snape hunched over a blank patch of wall in a dark corridor. He was whispering words that Harry couldn't make out, but he didn't want to move any closer. After a second, Snape straightened abruptly, and a door materialized. Snape moved aside, his glare directed at Harry.

"In, Potter," he commanded.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, glancing quickly at the dark space revealed now by the open door. It looked like a continuation of the corridor.

"My quarters," Snape told him tersely, not looking at him. "Get in," he repeated impatiently, with a sharp flick of his wrist.

Harry sidled cautiously past the man, making certain that he stayed well out of Snape's reach. He could feel Snape just behind him, though the room was draped in darkness. The heavy door thudded closed. Harry was about to demand that Snape tell him what the hell they were doing, when a soft light flickered against the stone floors, illuminating the perimeter of the room. Snape stepped past him.

"Do not attempt to leave. The door and Floo are warded," Snape told him with disinterest as he walked toward a door against the far wall. Snape disappeared inside.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Harry went to the door they'd just entered through; it took him longer than it would have if Snape would have actually turned the lights on. There was no visible doorknob, and none appeared, even after Harry ran his hands up and down the pitted wood. He directed a whispered, "Alohomora," toward the stubborn door several times, but still nothing happened.

The Floo was just as uncooperative. There wasn't even any powder. With a scowl, Harry sat stiffly in a chair next to the Floo and waited in the near-darkness. Whatever Snape was doing in there, he was certainly taking his time. Harry shifted uncomfortably in the inflexible chair while he waited. He finally gave up finding any sort of comfort, and put his head back against the sparsely padded back. He closed his eyes tiredly, wondering for the first time since he'd first fallen asleep that night, what time it was.

"Potter!"

Harry's head jerked up, his palm slipping from where he'd cupped it against his chin. Blinking dazedly, Harry started as Snape's shadowed features appeared in front of his eyes. The eyes, chips of jagged obsidian, glared at him, and unable to stop himself, Harry propelled his body backward. The legs of the chair scraped loudly against the stone floor and Harry found himself on his rump, the chair upended beside him, his legs splayed wildly over the chair's seat.

"Get up," Snape snarled, and when Harry could only stare at the menacing eyes, Snape's fingers flashed in front of his face. Harry cried out in alarm, and then felt nothing but an agony which was all too familiar. The pain ended almost immediately, but Harry couldn't stop screaming. Something was coming for him; it always did after the agony subsided.

There it was. Pressing, pushing against his fortress. But he couldn't let it in. Whatever it was—whoever it was, wanted to hurt him. He always leered at him, hoping to break him. But Harry couldn't fight. The other was too strong. His anger was too strong. Harry was nothing. And then, against his will, the other was stealing the memories that he was not even meant to see.

Harry was much younger, shoving his too-large glasses hastily up on his nose with one hand as he scrambled to write down messy, detailed notes on a scroll of parchment. The scrawls were eager and he was listening intently. Harry didn't want his attacker to sense the awe he'd felt when he'd sat in his first Potions class. But the other could feel everything, and Harry could feel his surprise.

The scene shifted.

He was older now…wandering a dark corridor with his map. Snape's name appeared near a swiftly-moving dot. Harry's eyes snapped up and he looked around wildly. If Snape caught him—he froze and extinguished his wand hastily—Snape would kill him. And Harry watched, feeling his heart seize as Snape glared down at him. Surprise filled Harry's mind once more.

He could hear the echoed query, "…afraid of me?"

Snape.

It was Snape trying to snatch him away from the place where he'd found safety.

Snape was his attacker. He was always the attacker.

Harry tried to flail away, to stop Snape's assault. But it wasn't any use. Snape ripped away his security and with a harsh tug, Harry's screams ended and he was staring up at his assailant.

Staring into Snape's soulless black eyes…

Harry made an attempt to tell the bloody bat to get the hell away from him, but it came out a gurgle instead. And with a wave a shame, Harry realized he was trembling. With fear. With sodding fear. Of Snape.

Snape was staring at him, his breath coming in heavy ins and outs. And Harry hoped he couldn't see his terror. But Snape was too close. Where would he go if Snape-

"Get up, Potter," Snape ordered unsteadily, looking at him with the same confusion Harry had thought he'd seen in Dumbledore's office.

Harry slid backward, carefully so that he would not startle the professor into attacking him again. As soon as he was far enough away, he hoisted himself up. No need to give Snape a reason to get angry again. His hands still shaking like a coward's, Harry reached down and righted the chair he'd so carelessly toppled.

"Sorry, sir," he offered quickly, hoping to smooth over any lingering fury. Snape blinked, but then he stood straighter and shook his robes out—the movement completely unnecessary.

"We're leaving," he said curtly, as though Harry hadn't spoken at all.

"We aren't staying here?" Harry asked, his reflexes taking over. He winced as Snape narrowed his eyes.

"No," Snape answered, and without further explanation, he turned on his heel and swept back toward the door. Harry followed without a word, back through the castle and beyond the gates. As soon as they'd crossed the threshold, Snape halted once more. He turned slowly to face Harry.

"You'll need to take my arm," Snape informed him, looking highly disturbed by the necessity of being touched. Harry hesitated, feeling suddenly nauseous at the prospect. Snape was holding his arm out stiffly, and before he had time to convince himself that it was a bad idea, Harry pinched a bit of Snape's sleeve between his thumb and forefinger. "Unless you want to find yourself permanently inside out, hold onto my arm," Snape snapped at him, startling Harry. A spasm went through his fingers, making them flail and then grip convulsively around the professor's wrist.

Before he could undo the terrified hold, Snape was spinning sharply. Harry whirled with him, stumbling over his feet, his body tearing and pulsing inside of itself. His feet pounded suddenly on solid earth. He was thrown forward on impact, and only just managed to catch himself with his palms. Seconds later, the short green grass was covered in his vomit, his esophagus determined to expel everything. It didn't stop until even the clear, bitter bile had cleared his lips.

"If you are quite finished, Potter," Snape's composed voice mocked from above, "perhaps we could move past the barrier. Unless you'd like to increase your chances of joining your godfather."

Harry looked up immediately, wishing he could hex Snape's smirk right off his ugly face. But he said nothing, didn't even frown at the sadistic bastard. He simply stood up on shaky legs and stepped in front of Snape, though he kept slightly to the side—just in case.

The shack looked even more pathetic and run-down than it had in the dark—and it seemed much smaller than it possibly could have been. Shingles were falling from the off-kilter roof and Harry could see that several windows were broken. And yet, Harry hadn't felt a single bit of wind inside.

"Alohomora," Snape commanded when they'd reached the door. He waited behind while Harry went inside his new prison.

Instead of passing him, Snape stopped. "The kitchen is kept stocked by Dodgy," he said with a dismissive wave of his fingers. He didn't even pause, pointing down the dark corridor Harry knew shouldn't be able to fit in the tiny shack he'd seen from outside. "You will use the second room on your right," he directed. Not giving Harry a chance to nod, Snape went on tonelessly, "If you wish to retain even that small amount of freedom, I suggest you do not test my patience."

With that, Snape waved his wand in several intricate loops toward the front door, chanting a complicated string of Latin. Harry didn't even need to test the door to know there was no way it was going to open for him.

"I have work to do," Snape informed him coldly and with a last narrow-eyed glare, he took a slow, oddly cautious, wide berth around Harry and swept out of the room. Harry watched Snape's robes swishing furiously behind him until the dark corridor swallowed him up. And only then, did Harry notice his tense posture, his muscles held stiffly so that he would be ready for the next time the pain took him. And even though Snape was no longer so close, he couldn't allow himself to relax. It would be much too dangerous.


	6. Ripples

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings belong to J.K. Rowling**

Chapter 6: Ripples.

With an angry flick, Severus swept his outer robes off his shoulders and flung them over the end of the bed, watching as they slithered over the ridiculous green and silver patterned coverlet which Albus had chosen for him. He hated this place. Hated the memories associated with it.

He'd escaped to here many times, after nights spent in the pursuit of the Dark Lord's favorite pastime. Walking back through the gates of Hogwarts would have been too much to ask of him. He preferred to be alone. Albus had understood that. It was one of the few things the old man had allowed him.

With a muted snarl, Severus grasped one of the long poles of the four-poster bed and gripped it as hard as he could. Albus was not supposed to die. The old fool! It had been the Dark Lord's magic in that ring; he could feel it. With his free hand, Severus dipped his long fingers into his inner robe pocket and plucked the deadly ring out between his thumb and forefinger. He stared at the cracked stone briefly before plying it with a Shielding Charm and placing it in the warded box he kept in his bureau. Albus would want it back if he woke up. _When_, Severus corrected himself furiously. If Albus died, he'd be strapped with Potter until—

But Severus refused to allow himself to think about that either. He would be useless once Potter fulfilled the destiny that Albus had been so certain he was meant to. The Dark Lord would be no more, and Severus would cease to be valuable to anything—_to anyone_.

He turned a little as he heard the soft click of the door opposite his own. He withdrew his wand and tapped the small, flat crystal disk that was sitting on his desk. Red smoke swished over the round glass and then Potter came into focus.

The boy was settling himself gingerly on the identical four-poster bed. He looked as though he was afraid the gold and scarlet coverlet would leap up at the corners and swallow him whole.

Severus turned fully to study the hunched-over boy in his viewing glass. Fear… That was the emotion Potter had shown the most since Severus had taken him from his relatives' home. The cocky, fearless Gryffindor had never looked so scared, in fact. Threatened with trolls and basilisks and the Dark Lord himself, Harry Potter had sneered at danger. Welcomed it, just like his damned father, and yet Severus had seen him cower more than once since he'd brought him here.

Perhaps Potter was not as brave as he had always tried to appear. And of course he would not want others, especially his Gryffindor playmates, to recognize his cowardice. Potter had been scared in his earlier memories as well. Fear of Severus' anger had mingled with Potter's surprising regret over his trip into Severus' Pensieve. And he had been frightened of what would happen to him when Severus discovered him wandering the corridors after curfew during the whole debacle with Black.

Well, the boy did hide his fear well, Severus would admit that. Until now.

And since there were very few variables in the interactions between them, Severus would also have to admit that Potter was obviously more affected by Severus' forays into his mind than he had realized. But there was nothing to be done about it, Severus told himself forcefully.

Forcing his mind away from Potter and his problems, Severus withdrew from his pockets the satchels he'd packed in his quarters. He enlarged each of them, and without paying much attention to their organization, put his clothes and other personal items away.

He saved the largest satchel for last: his books. Most of them were full of magic dark enough to entice the Dark Lord himself. He chose the one at the top of the unzipped bag and thumbed it open to the same spot he'd read twice in his quarters. He needed to understand the dark magic which had so easily rendered Albus scarred and helpless.

He began reading the passage again, his eyes intently absorbing each word.

--

Harry's eyes flew open at the sound of a muffled scuffling, just beyond the door. Fumbling a bit incoherently for his wand, Harry stumbled his way off of the soft bed and toward the door. He leaned in close, but he couldn't hear anything more beyond. Holding his wand erect in his hand, Harry wrenched the door open and pointed his wand into the corridor. Dodgy gazed back at him.

"Harry Potter," the elf stammered, "Dodgy is being called here by Master Snape, sir."

Harry pulled his arm back down to his side and slid his wand into his pocket. "Where _is_ Snape?" he asked.

Dodgy bowed low. "Master Snape is being called away. Dodgy is to remain with you until he returns," he answered solemnly, his eyes even wider and more sincere than Dobby's. Harry nodded; they'd had a similar conversation when Snape had left him here last night. Harry didn't even bother to ask where Snape had been called away to. Dodgy either hadn't known last night, or simply wouldn't tell him.

"How long has Snape been gone?" he asked quickly, already calculating his chances of getting out and wondering just how far Dodgy would go to assist him, since the possibility of actually being able to get through Snape's locked front door was negligible, not to mention that he had no idea where this dilapidated cabin was even located.

"Master Snape is only just leaving a few moments ago, Harry Potter, sir," Dodgy told him crisply. Harry nodded to himself, figuring he'd have enough time to at least attempt to fiddle with the door. Moving cautiously anyway, he was caught off guard when a zing of energy jolted him as soon as his foot touched the threshold.

"Ah!" he cried, jumping backwards to safety again. Dodgy began wringing his hands anxiously.

"Harry Potter must not try to leave his room," he moaned. "Dodgy is not telling Harry Potter fast enough." The little elf began banging his head furiously against the door jam. Harry leapt forward again, only just stopping in time to avoid being—whatever the wizard equivalent to electrocuted was.

"Stop Dodgy!" he ordered, dropping to his knees and then looking around helplessly as he realized he couldn't actually touch him. "Please. I'm not hurt," he said, a bit desperately as the house-elf only seemed to be smacking his head even more loudly against the wood. "Please, Dodgy. It hurts my head to watch you," he tried to tell him, not knowing what else to say.

Dodgy stopped banging. He gazed at Harry with his wide eyes.

"Master Snape has promised to kill Dodgy if Harry Potter is hurt," he said softly. Harry stared at him.

"Snape said that?" he asked incredulously, rocking a little as his legs decided they were tired of holding him in this ridiculous position.

Dodgy nodded seriously. "Master Snape's vow to protect Harry Potter is Dodgy's vow now," he explained proudly. Harry sank down to the hard floor, pushing his legs out in front of him.

"Then I don't suppose," he murmured after a long silence, "that'll you help me get out of here?"

Dodgy reared back, as though Harry had slapped him. "Dodgy cannot help Harry Potter leave!" he panted, shaking his head frantically. "Harry Potter is safe here!" he declared.

"Safe," Harry scoffed, mostly to himself. There was no way that Dodgy would understand.

"Professor Dumbledore is telling Dodgy that Master Snape is keeping Harry Potter safe here," Dodgy said quietly. Harry looked up sharply.

"You've spoken to Dumbledore today?" he demanded quickly. He sagged against the doorframe when Dodgy shook his head.

"Professor Dumbledore is asking Dodgy two days ago to share Master Snape's oath," he told Harry eagerly. Harry narrowed his eyes. Two days ago? But Dumbledore couldn't have known that he would be here. He was supposed to be safely locked away at the Dursleys with Sirius. Thinking about Sirius immediately pushed aside Harry's irritation with the Headmaster.

Snape had said he was being tortured. Harry closed his eyes as he tried to shut out the picture of Sirius screaming while laughing Death Eaters tormented him. He knew Sirius was strong and would last much longer than either Dudley or Aunt Petunia. Harry shivered as he thought of his cousin and aunt. And Uncle Vernon. How many times had he wished that something would happen so he didn't have to live with them any longer? Now his wish had finally come true. In the most horrifying way possible.

Harry leaned his back against the doorframe, and stared at his toes dejectedly. He paid no attention when Dodgy appeared next to him, and settled a tray laden with food next to his thigh. He turned away from both Dodgy and the food, staring at the peeling paint chips on the door across the hall.

--

Yaxley waved his wand. Petunia's body disappeared with absolutely no sound. "Lucius has peculiar tastes," he told Severus thoughtfully as he straightened his robes. Severus, struggling to keep the contents of his stomach in place, simply nodded. Petunia, mercifully, had already been dead when he arrived.

"What of Potter's cousin?" he inquired when he could speak again. Yaxley leered at him.

"He isn't Lucius' type," he drawled. Severus smiled thinly.

"And how is Black?" he continued.

"Ready to have a break from Bella, I should think," Yaxley returned amiably.

"Excellent," Severus approved, putting just the right amount of anticipation into his voice as he turned toward Black's new private cell. Yaxley followed. Bellatrix was sweeping out the open door. She smiled slowly at him.

"Back so soon?" she asked, her lip curling into a cruel smile. Severus lifted a corner of his lips.

"The Dark Lord asked me to prepare Black to meet Potter," he explained. Bellatrix smiled. "He wishes to see you," Severus told her.

Bella's eyes lit up with excitement. "Have fun, Severus," she cooed, putting a long-fingered hand on his arm and trailing it delicately up to his shoulder. She sidled around him, letting her fingernails caress his shoulder blades until she was out of reach. She raised her dark eyebrows suggestively before stepping into the dark stairwell to follow Yaxley up the stairs. Severus followed her progress, waiting until the door had closed above to enter Black's cell.

Black kept his eyes trained on the dirty floor, even as Severus locked the door behind them.

"They haven't killed you yet," Severus observed. Black's head came up. Then his eyes flicked to the closed door. "We are alone," Severus told him dispassionately.

"Is Harry all right?" Black asked immediately, wasting no time in asking the most important questions. His voice was barely recognizable, it was so hoarse. Severus took a flask from his robes and uncorked it. Stepping close to the bound man, Severus put the rim of the flask to Black's lips. Black pulled his head back. "Harry?" he asked again.

"Potter is undamaged. I managed to get past his shields," Severus told him impatiently. Black sighed in relief. Severus put the flask of water to his lips again. Black took a few greedy sips. Severus re-corked the water.

"Thanks," Black murmured. Severus said nothing as he tucked the water back into his robes, deciding that Black's mind must have already been affected by Bella's torture before he'd had a chance to apply his spell if that was actually gratitude that had passed his lips. "For Harry…and your spell as well," Black added softly.

"We have no time for your mindless drivel, Black," Severus snapped. Black looked suitably perturbed at his response. "The Dark Lord is determined to bring Potter to him," Severus continued. Black's back tensed against the wall.

"He's safe though, isn't he?" he demanded, his eyes dancing with worry. Severus nodded curtly.

"Yes, yes," he reiterated with a dismissive wave. "However, the Dark Lord plans to reach into Potter's mind again, intending to lure him to Privet Drive where he will be waiting with you. Though it will never happen, the Dark Lord wishes you to be _ready_ for the occasion," Severus continued, hoping the mutt would not begin any cowardly protests.

Black flinched noticeably, but he did not protest. His eyes opened in surprise as he felt his lip splitting open, without aid of his enemy's fist. Severus didn't even pause, moving his wand to point at Black's nose. The bones cracked themselves apart. Black flinched again, likely from the sound as he could feel no pain. It seemed the spell was still working, Severus noted in satisfaction of his own skill.

Severus watched with detachment as blood spilled over the lower half of Black's face. Applying his wand carefully, he dug a few more gouges in the other man's face and one along the side of his head, where ostensibly, Black's skull would have connected with the stone behind. Black was watching him, his eyes following the movements of his wand.

"There is only so much I can do with my wand," Severus told him shortly, bringing it down abruptly to his side after applying a quick cushioning charm behind Black's head. Black nodded his understanding and pressed his teeth together. He closed his eyes and allowed Severus' fists to connect with his left eye, and his chest as well. Black groaned in protest at the pressure, slumping over as much as his restraints would allow.

Severus stepped away from him, running his wand over the other man's frame. The contusions and cracked rib would suffice. The skin around Black's eye was already beginning to darken. Black raised his head, his eyebrow raised.

"I bet you wish you had taken your spell off first," he jibed, a bit breathlessly. Severus sneered at him.

"It _would_ have been more satisfactory, but it is enough to watch you helplessly hanging here," he returned. Black scowled at him.

"Shouldn't you be getting back to Harry…in case he needs you?" he stressed, ignoring Seveurs' barb. His head twitched a little as a few drops of blood trickled down his chin and throat.

Severus did not acknowledge the question. He spun around on his heel. Black's blood did not give him nearly as much satisfaction as it should have.

"Tell Harry that I'll be all right until someone can come for me."

Severus turned slowly around. Black was watching him, his chin slightly lifted.

"No one is coming for you, Black," Severus told him abruptly, finding less pleasure in the telling than he thought he would have. Black's lips trembled, and for one frightening moment, Severus was certain the other man would cry. But Black only nodded. "There were heavy casualties on Privet Drive," Severus found himself explaining, "and Albus has been critically wounded."

Severus did not add that he had no idea who would lead the Order, now that Albus was incapacitated. There was no one to give such an order, and no one to give the order to. His own role as a spy was too crucial to risk on a rescue attempt, and without Albus to tell him to do it anyway, he would not take the chance. It would be regrettable, especially now, to lose a member of the Order…

Black made an unintelligible noise. Severus simply gazed at him. Black swallowed several times.

Finally, speaking in a mere whisper, so softly that Severus had to lean forward to discern his words, Black pleaded, "Take care of him."

Severus could find no answer to that unimaginable plea. So he simply spun around again and stalked out.

--

Harry scrambled to his feet when he heard the front door click open. Dodgy jumped up as well, from where he'd perched himself protectively by Harry's side. He stumbled over Harry's shoes in his haste to leave the room.

"Is Master Snape well?" Dodgy was asking anxiously a moment later. If Snape answered, it wasn't loud enough for Harry to hear. "Young Master is refusing food, Master Snape."

It sounded like Snape snorted, though it seemed rather unlikely, Harry supposed.

"Harry Potter will be getting ill," Dodgy told the Potions Master in an indignant voice. The next sound Snape made sounded decidedly more like a snarl.

Harry backed away from the door a pace as he heard Snape's robes swishing down the corridor. Snape stopped in front of his door. The meager light from the room barely illuminated the professor's face, making his scowl all the more fearsome. His black eyes flicked briefly to the tray of food on the floor.

"You are fifteen, Potter. Surely you are capable of understanding that a body needs nourishment," he said, sounding like he didn't care in the least what Harry did or did not understand.

"I'm not hungry…sir," Harry told the taller man, tacking on the last bit only when Snape glared at him.

"I do not wish to nurse you back to health when you are suffering from malnutrition, Potter," Snape growled at him. "You will eat," he snapped, when Harry said nothing.

"I've learned how to survive with very little food," Harry told him with a shrug. "I'm not going to get sick," he insisted, with a pointed look for Dodgy. Dodgy was wringing his hands nervously again.

"Stop wasting my time with your childish ploys." Snape had crossed his arms over his chest and he was standing very close to the threshold of the door. Harry glared at him.

"I'm not playing games. I'm not hungry," he repeated. Snape stepped through the doorway; Harry backed up another few steps. "How come you didn't get zapped?" Harry demanded, distracted. Snape smirked at him.

"That spell was designed especially for you. I trust it worked?" he inquired nastily. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"I haven't even done anything to make you lock me in here," he objected.

"I disagree, Potter," Snape drawled. "You have demonstrated on several occasions that you are as untrustworthy as your father. Shall we go over each in detail?"

Harry, though his ears were flaming with indignation, said nothing. He didn't want to argue with _Snape_ about his father.

"I'm not going to try to leave. I don't even know where we are." Surely Snape could see the logic in that.

"I doubt very much that stop you. Not if you thought you could get to Black," Snape returned, his voice full of mocking.

"Well, someone has to know how to find him!" Harry said heatedly, feeling all of sudden like he would explode.

"Even if you knew where to find him, you could not save him," Snape informed him, his voice frigid.

Harry's stomach lurched at Snape's callous words. "You know where he is, don't you?" he asked quietly. And then the awful truth sunk in and Harry began to hear a buzzing in his ears. "You went to Voldemort tonight, didn't you?"

"_Don't_ say his name, Potter!" Snape barked.

"And last night as well?" Harry asked, paying no attention to Snape's rebuke.

"My activities are none of your concern," Snape said dismissively. He turned toward the door. But Harry was not about to let it go at that. Not when Sirius' life was at stake.

"Did you help torture him?" he demanded.

Snape halted just in front of the door. He rotated just enough that his eyes were locked with Harry. "Watch yourself, Potter," he warned, his voice smooth as silk. He twirled back toward the door. Harry's fingers curled into fists at the evasion.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked, his voice trembling with his disgust. "Did it feel good to finally get revenge on your childhood enemy?" he asked, the question coming out in a gasp. He felt like someone had shoved him under water. He could barely breathe. Snape had tortured Sirius. It was too much. He could feel his hatred for Snape swimming in front of his eyes.

--

"Dumbledore should never have trusted you. You're a bastard."

Severus whirled around, intending to give the ungrateful boy a sound tongue-lashing. How dare he speak to him with such disrespect? Severus took two furious steps toward him. Potter's eyes widened in terror and before Severus had even completed the second step, Potter had thrown himself into the tiny space between the bed and the wall, covering his face with his arms. He was crying out, though it wasn't the incoherent scream that accompanied the beginning of a new Cruciatus cycle.

"Nopleaseno" Potter was saying, over and over.

He was begging, Severus realized in shock as his brain separated the string of syllables into words. He took a third, slower step. The unintelligible screams began.

And Potter was writhing in agony, his arms and legs knocking against the walls and footboard. Severus covered the short distance between them almost instantly, dropping to his knees automatically, and ending the Cruciatus. He sought Potter's barrier.

But Potter would not let him in.

And Severus could hear his shouts, pleading with him to leave…_not to hurt him_. Severus could detect no defiance, only desperation.

He stopped tearing against the shield. Potter's fear was making the barrier stronger. Perhaps if he adjusted his tactic, he could finish this quickly.

_You are trapped here, Potter. I am only going to free you. _

But the impatient explanation didn't do any good, no matter how much Severus curbed his harsh tone. Potter's shield was quaking, ringing with accusations of treachery.

And time was moving forward, with Potter still trapped inside his mind.

Severus pushed away the strange feeling of reluctance as he closed his own mind to Potter's fear, and began clawing at the barrier.

He almost couldn't break through. When he did, Potter refused to come back. Until Severus ejected him with all his strength.

And then he was aware of the room around them again.

Potter was curled into a ball on the floor.

"Please don't…" he moaned repeatedly. Violent tremors were rattling his teeth, making the words tremble.

Severus stared at him, completely speechless. Dodgy had moved hastily forward, dropping down next to Potter's rocking body.

"Harry Potter!" he cried in a terrified voice, looking to Severus for some kind of explanation. But Severus could only shake his head, having no answers.

"Potter," he finally said, breaking the tense silence. Potter continued to moan, though without meaning anymore. Adverse though he was to the motion, Severus reached out a hand to Potter's shoulder and shook it roughly. And even though he seemed oblivious to his surroundings, Potter's body jerked away from the touch. Severus brought his hand, fisted now, back to his lap.

"Get up, Potter," he commanded after a moment had passed, feeling at a loss to know what else to do, and hating the feeling of helplessness immensely. Agitated, he rose to his feet. "Put him on the bed," he ordered, gesturing to the house-elf. Dodgy complied, picking Potter up as though he weighed nothing. He settled Potter's head on the pillow and brought the covers over his still-scrunched body.

Potter had fallen silent, though he was still rocking slightly. Intermittent tremors continued to pulse through his frame. Severus and Dodgy stared down at him.

Severus drew a long breath through his nostrils. "Stay with him," he ordered Dodgy tersely. Dodgy nodded obediently, his eyes still huge with worry. Tearing his eyes from Potter, Severus turned away, crossing the hall to his own room. It was the middle of the night, and yet, even after he had completed his nightly ablutions, sleep did not come easily. The weight of failure weighed heavily on him.

After only a few hours, he rose, and simply showered and dressed for the day, foegoing the rest of his sleep. And when the sun began to color the horizon, he crossed the corridor again. Dodgy had not moved. Potter's eyes were closed now. Sleeping presumably, but it was the sleep of the disturbed. Potter's limbs twitched against invisible enemies, and an occasional moan escaped his lips. A few of the moans morphed into words. _No. Please. Snape._

It seemed that sleep had helped very little.

"Harry Potter is needing help, Master Snape," Dodgy whispered, bringing his round, overly-large eyes up to meet Severus'.

And Severus could find no argument. Potter's barrier was becoming stronger with each new Cruciatus. And even Severus' reassurances had been useless against it; Potter was terrified of him. Blast Albus for being right. Potter _was_ fragile. It seemed it wouldn't take much more for his mind to crack into tiny pieces. And Potter would be of very little use against Voldemort if that happened.

--

**TBC...**

**Author's Notes: Thanks to my mom (jolisgsd) and JadeSullivan for allowing me to pick their brains. Thanks for all your responses to chapter 5. I enjoy hearing from all of you, so please let me know what you think of this chapter. :o)**

**Anne: Thanks for all your reviews. I do agree with most of what you've said about both Snape and Harry, though I do have to disagree strongly about Harry having a selfish streak. I really don't think Harry was at all selfish. How could he be, after all he did? You reference the day Harry went to Hogsmeade as an example. Of course, people were trying to keep him safe, but I really think a 13 year old would not truly understand the significance of all the danger he was in (especially as people weren't telling him much of anything). It doesn't make him selfish to want to go to Hogsmeade with his friends. It makes him 13. He wants to do what every other 13 year old at Hogwarts is doing. He wasn't 'thumbing his nose' at everyone. He was a stupid kid. He wasn't trying to be purposefully arrogant.**

**mcrbrat97: Thank you! I'm glad you liked the chapter.**


	7. Circling

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings belong to J.K. Rowling**

**Chapter 7: Circling**

**Warning: Contains violent/dark suggestive imagery, including the extreme abuse of a child (not graphic)**

Wide eyes were staring down at him.

Harry jerked away, startled at the sudden intrusion. He almost fell off the bed.

"Dodgy must apologize to Harry Potter."

The little house-elf smiled in a watery sort of way. Harry rubbed at his eyes as he levered himself back onto the bed. "S'allright Dodgy," he muttered. "And, it's just Harry," he corrected, not really wanting to be called Harry Potter for however long he was forced to stay here. Dodgy shook his head, beginning to wring his hands again. "What is it?" Harry asked tiredly, scrubbing his fingers across the back of his neck. His entire body seemed to be aching.

"Dodgy had to tell Master Snape, Harry Potter, sir," Dodgy answered sadly, his already large eyes huge with remorse.

Harry yawned. "Just Harry," he repeated. And then Dodgy's words penetrated his muzzy brain, and he tensed. Dodgy must have told Snape that he had woken up in the middle of the night, with pain in his scar. "I wasn't in any danger," he said stiffly. Dodgy blinked his eyes sorrowfully.

"Master Snape asked Dodgy if Harry Potter slept without waking. Dodgy had to tell Master Snape the truth," he offered apologetically. Harry grimaced as he shifted slightly away from the house-elf, irritated at the little creature's loyalty toward Snape. "Master Snape is very concerned about Harry Potter's pain."

Bitter laughter escaped Harry's lips. "Snape doesn't give a damn about my pain, Dodgy," he said in a hard voice.

Dodgy shook his head quickly. "Master Snape is keeping Harry Potter safe," he protested. Harry scowled at him.

"Snape is doing what Dumbledore told him to do, nothing else," he snapped. Dodgy flinched, his ears flattening against the sides of his head. "Go away," Harry mumbled, feeling bad for scaring the little elf, but he didn't want Snape's spy staring at him. Dodgy nodded slowly. But before he hopped down, he scooted a tray of food toward Harry. Harry turned away, hunching his shoulders up as he stared at the wall.

"Harry Potter must eat," Dodgy said quietly, but he seemed to have lost the vehemence he had had yesterday about the subject. Harry said nothing as he continued to stare at the wall.

--

Severus frowned as he watched the house-elf walking dejectedly out of Potter's room. Dodgy blinked up at him sadly. Before he could prattle on about Potter's lack of appetite, Severus waved his hand in dismissal. Dodgy's tiny shoulders slumped and then he was gone with a loud crack.

Severus stepped into Potter's room cautiously, wondering just how sensitive Potter actually was to his movements. But Potter didn't seem to notice him. And he hadn't seemed to notice Dodgy's noisy exit. Severus stepped closer to the bed.

"Leave me alone."

"Mind your tone, Potter," Severus returned automatically. But there hadn't been any defiance in the boy's voice. It was a plea more than anything. Severus almost cleared his throat, feeling oddly uncomfortable as he stood, staring at the lump that was Potter; his feet were curled up so far, his heels were pressed into the backs of his thighs. "Did any dreams accompany the pain in your scar last night?" Best to get right to the point so he could get out of here.

"Go to hell, Snape."

The words sounded so innocuous, they could have been a request for apple treacle. Severus ignored them.

"Did you dream of Black?" he repeated, an edge of impatience creeping into the question. Potter whipped around, his cheeks flushed with anger, or so Severus assumed.

"Yes," he said, the single word shaking, "Voldemort let me watch you torture him." Potter glared at him, his eyes flashing. "You knew he was going to, didn't you?" he demanded. "That's why you asked Dodgy about me. Just so you could make sure I was forced to see it. Are you happy now, Snape? Are you?" he suddenly raged as he pushed himself up on his knees, his fingers knotted in the crushed sheets.

"Don't say his name, and spare me the theatrics," Severus gritted through his teeth. He hardly needed to be made to deal with an adolescent temper tantrum.

"Theatrics?" Potter echoed, as though he wanted every neighboring town to be able to hear his outrage. "_Voldemort_," he continued, almost jeering the word, "is trying to make me come find Sirius, which I can't do, because you have me locked up in here like a bloody prisoner and I have no way of knowing how much longer he'll be alive, or even if he's not dead already!" he shouted.

Severus, surprised that Potter, who was usually particularly thick, had caught on so quickly to the Dark Lord's plan, did not even stop to correct Potter's use of the Dark Lord's name. "Precisely _why_ I've locked you up, Potter. You are much too stupid to pay heed to your own safety. You cannot do anything for Black."

"But _you_ can," Potter countered with a faltering scowl. "You can free him…help him escape, and you could let my aunt and-"

"As simple as that, Potter?" Severus mocked, interrupting the flow of words that was beginning to sound uncomfortably desperate. "What do you wish me to do? Simply _walk_ into the Dark Lord's midst, unchain Black from his wall and lead him right back past the Dark Lord?"

Potter swallowed. "You could do it, if you wanted to," he said quietly, his features shifting to something less furious but then his green eyes flashed again. "You only won't because you hate him so much," he accused. Potter looked surprised at the sharp words.

"I _won't_ because my position as a spy is more important than your mangy godfather's life," Severus growled, waving his hand to emphasize his point as he lost his patience with Potter's idiocy.

Instead of shouting at him about how precious Black's life was, as Severus would have expected, Potter brought his hands from the sheets and pressed his arms into his stomach. The motion was strangely protective. Potter swallowed again; his eyes became empty hollows. "But if I don't go to Sirius, Vol-the Dark Lord will give up after awhile and kill him," he said shakily.

"He will be killed anyway, as soon as the Dark Lord has you within his sights," Severus told him bluntly, thinking it should have been perfectly obvious. "Stop being childish, Potter. Black is gone."

Potter stared at him. "But then you've as good as murdered him," he whispered, and Severus could clearly hear the horror in the boy's voice. Severus gazed back at him.

"If murder were my only crime, Potter, I wouldn't be here now, with you," he returned blandly. Potter's expression changed to one of confusion and fear. Lest last night repeat itself, Severus abruptly changed the subject. "I am not going to waste my time arguing with you about eating," Severus went on, ignoring Potter's slightly glazed look. "Either you will eat of your own volition, or I will spell the food directly into your stomach," he explained simply. Potter said nothing. And then he was turning around again to face the wall.

"I don't care what you do," he mumbled as his torso folded over his legs. His arms were still wrapped around his waist.

"I assure you, Potter," Snape told him, trying not to pay attention to the way the boy was hugging himself, "you will _care_ if I have to force food into your stomach. It is not a pleasant sensation."

Potter only become smaller as his shoulders slumped even further. There was no further response, and Severus glanced in annoyance between the tray of Dodgy's carefully prepared breakfast and Potter's pathetic form. Following through on his threat would really be more troublesome to him than to Potter, especially if the spell affected Potter the way it affected most wizards. Severus would rather graze the Dark Lord's infected toe with his lips than nurse Potter's sour stomach. With an irritated growl, Severus turned and stalked from the room, promising himself that he would find some way to repay Potter for being such a nuisance. But he would not cater to him, and when Potter was hungry enough, he would eat.

--

What did it matter if he didn't eat? No one, except Snape, would ever know, even if he slowly starved to death. And somehow that fate seemed better—or maybe simply easier—than staying here, completely alone and scared of things he couldn't even identify.

Snape probably wouldn't even bother telling anyone else. The Weasleys and Hermione might care of course, but there wasn't anyone else. Snape wouldn't help him. Petunia and Dudley were going to die—not that they would be particularly sad if he popped off. Sirius would have cared…

Harry brought his knees up, trying to press the gnawing ache in his stomach away. Food wouldn't take this pain away. He tried not to focus on the image of Sirius, just hanging there on a wall. But he'd never see his godfather again otherwise. Not in this life anyway.

--

Hours later, Potter was again curled up on his side on the bed. His tray of food was untouched; it hadn't even been moved, even though Potter's shoulder and elbow were dangerously close to the small dish of butter. Severus glared down at the sluggish boy. Potter continued to stare listlessly at the wall.

"You may have been allowed to lay idle while at your relatives' house, Potter, but I am well aware of how shoddy your summer homework always is," Severus said with a sneer. "I am certain an attempt to write a passable essay would be a better use of your time than staring at a wall."

Potter didn't react at all. Severus scowled. Surely the little whelp was simply playing with him. Perhaps he thought to try a new tactic—annoying the hell out of him.

"You will show me respect when I'm speaking to you, Potter," he growled warningly. Potter turned his head at the order, but his eyes were dull and lifeless. "Get up," Severus snapped, unnerved by the shadows in the normally defiant eyes. Potter rolled the rest of his body around and slowly sat up, his movements listless. The circles under Potter's eyes were more pronounced, deeper than they had been when Severus had first entered the room this morning. It was unlikely Potter would be able to hold out without food much longer. So then, he wondered furiously, why didn't the brat _eat_?

Severus reached for his wand to summon a new tray of food. He whipped it out of his sleeve. At the sudden movement, Potter threw himself against the wall, the movement so violent, that there was a sickening crack of at least one of Potter's bones on impact. Severus halted his unintentionally abrupt movement, his wand suspended in mid-air. But it was too late—Potter was already screaming. The sound was hauntingly mournful but there could be no mistake. Potter was enduring yet another round of the Cruciatus Curse.

Before he even moved toward Potter, Severus chanted the correct words. The screams changed to a quiet weeping, the sounds even more desolate than the screams had been. Severus approached as quickly as caution would allow, but it wasn't necessary. Potter's eyes were squeezed tightly shut and his thin frame was shaking with sobs that had no tears.

Severus entered the boys' mind quickly, expecting to find Potter screaming obscenities at him, insisting that he get out. But there was no resounding cry. Potter's mind was completely silent. And the barrier had changed. It was crossed with barbed Muggle wires and slick with what would have been blood if they had been in the natural world.

The barrier reverberated with a single, silent warning, and Severus understood it immediately. Potter fully intended to see fresh blood spilled against that wall—whether his own or Severus', Severus could not be certain.

But by the time Severus dragged Potter out from behind the barrier, it was crystal clear. It was Potter's blood that had adorned the wall.

Severus backed away from the boy convulsing on the bed, staring in closed-mouth horror at the blood that oozed from Potter's nose. He had been in Potter's mind for too long. And with each passing minute, the wall had spouted a new fountain of blood.

He had frantically plugged each leak, even as he continued to tear against the barrier so he could pull Potter out. It had become a race, and Severus had almost lost. The boy's will to live had been completely destroyed. And Severus was certain that if he had spent any more time ripping against the sharp wires, Potter's sheets would now be soaked in crimson.

Potter was crying softly, and Severus couldn't pull his eyes away as tears tracked down the boy's face. He could not do this. He had failed, as surely as if he had killed Potter himself. The Dark Lord would win. And Severus would die, with his fingers still spotted with Lily's blood.

Potter's blood…

Severus waved his wand sharply, effectively distracting himself as he diagnosed and repaired the two broken bones in one of Potter's arms. Potter didn't even seem to notice. He continued to cry, the piteous sound grating against Severus' ears. He turned and left the room.

Not wanting to feel the walls of the tiny room pressing in on him, he passed his bedroom and went back to the sitting room, though it was hardly larger than his own cramped room. He gripped the back of the settee where he had first deposited Potter.

It was impossible, Severus told himself firmly. He could not bring Black here. But if he did not...if he couldn't find someone who Potter would trust, the boy would either die, trapped in his mind after enduring a Cruciatus Curse or else he would simply cease to be mentally functional. Neither option was acceptable if Severus was going to keep his vow.

Severus drew in a deep breath as he weighed his options. Potter's friends would be of no use—their magical powers were not developed enough for them to be able to act as guides to lead Potter out of the maze that accompanied each new curse cycle. Molly Weasley might be able to give Potter enough stability, but she was in no position to be at Potter's beck and call, not with the Weasley Patriarch lying critically injured in St. Mungo's, after his efforts on Privet Drive. And if Molly failed, Severus did not think he would be able to manage the same feat that he had performed today. Potter would remain trapped in his mind.

Severus closed his eyes briefly as the harsh truth washed through him. He needed Black's help. The knowledge coursed through him angrily and with a furious growl, Severus smashed his fist into wall. He would have to admit to the mutt that he was a failure…that he was useless. And Severus hated James Potter's spawn even more than he ever had for forcing him into this humiliating position, begging for help from Sirius Black. He could practically hear the elder Potter's mocking laughter.

--

Severus waited until Potter's scar began to burn. Potter had barely even flinched from the pain, but Severus could see the raw, reddened zigzag from where he stood outside the bedroom. Dodgy attempted to say something soothing and even handed the boy a dampened cloth, but Potter simply shook his head and turned away, muttering something about the pain being nothing.

It would be a few hours until the Dark Lord gave up his hopes of hosting Harry Potter as his guest at the burned-out shell that used to be Number Four Privet Drive. And so, Severus slipped out of the run-down shack and Apparated to Riddle Manor. No one would be expecting him, not yet. But the Dark Lord would be well pleased with Severus' surprise appearance.

The front door opened for him. Pettigrew stuttered through a greeting as Severus stepped into the deserted foyer. "I have news for our Lord," Severus rapped out importantly. Pettigrew licked his lips eagerly and nodded his head.

"He-he is resting…in preparation for tonight's festivities," Pettigrew explained, pointing toward the sitting room. Severus nodded curtly. He flipped the edges of his robes out of his way and pivoted toward the indicated room. The dark material flapped behind him as he walked with impatient steps. He could hear Pettigrew's scuttling steps behind him. Everything was going just as he'd planned it.

The parlor was even more shadowed than it was when the Dark Lord held court in here. It took Severus' eyes only seconds to adjust to the dimness.

"You have news for me, my Severus?"

The languid voice floated over to him from the farthest corner of the dark room.

"I have, my Lord," Severus answered, bowing his head respectfully as he moved toward the two shadowy figures.

"Come forward, and tell me, Severus," the Dark Lord invited. Severus complied, gliding toward the voice. Bellatrix stood close to her Lord's side, her eyes sparkling with devotion, even in the flickering candlelight.

Severus bent on one knee and scraped low against the floor. Voldemort's fingertips pressed lightly against his hair. "Harry Potter receives your visions, my Lord," Severus said in a low voice. "He has fled from Dumbledore."

A satisfied hiss escaped Voldemort's lips. "And we will be ready for him," he drawled, almost purring in excitement. "You must find him, Severus," Voldemort continued, "and make certain he finds his way to me."

Severus nodded, accepting the assignment he had been hoping for. "Dumbledore is intent on finding Black, my Lord," he continued to lie as he kept his head carefully bowed. Voldemort's brittle fingernails dug lightly into his scalp. The soft click and hiss of billowing candles was the only sound in the silent room.

"Black need not accompany us," Voldemort finally mused in his soft, shushing voice. His head snapped up to pierce Pettigrew's jittery gaze. "You will remain here with him, Wormtail," he ordered. Pettigrew's eyes widened in worry, but he nodded quickly in acceptance anyway. Severus congratulated himself silently. He had known the Dark Lord would leave the rat behind. He was almost never allowed to accompany the other Death Eaters on important missions. He was too weak, of both mind _and_ stomach.

"You wish to visit your old boyhood tormentor one more time, Severus?"

"You are much too generous, my Lord," Severus simpered. The long fingers caressed his hair once and then the slight pressure was lifted. Severus rose and stepped back as the Dark Lord's wrist flicked toward the door.

"Enjoy yourself, Severus. And make certain Black will not be able to leave," he added, his ruby eyes sliding over toward Pettigrew in appraisal. Severus dipped his head. The Dark Lord almost smiled. "You and Bella will have to fight over who gets to kill him after I have taken care of Harry."

Bellatrix grinned, her head tilting much too far to the side as she leered at Severus. Severus raised his eyebrow. "I will enjoy that," he told her, quirking his upper lip into a half-smile. Bella laughed her sultry, high-pitched laughter.

"And I will win," she assured him with her own satisfied purr. Severus narrowed his eyes in response, and then with a bow for the Dark Lord, he once again followed Pettigrew into the dungeons.

Pettigrew was wringing his hands and making those same small smacking noises as he led the way. And this time, Severus was content to follow at the small man's pace. Everything was going perfectly.

The stairwell seemed to have grown even mustier. His lungs felt clogged with mold. The sensation was even worse as they stepped into the small cellar. The stench was foul and Severus fought an urge to cover his nose and mouth with his sleeve.

"What is that odor?" he demanded of the little balding man. Pettigrew scurried back a few steps at the harsh tone.

"No-no toilets," he stammered, the answer a question more than anything. Severus scowled and went to Black's door. He pushed it open. He had to stifle a gasp. The Dursley boy was obviously dead, his large body sprawled across the floor, and purpled with bruises.

Pettigrew registered no surprise at finding the boy there. He simply stepped around the mass and waited expectantly for Severus. Severus pulled his gaze away from Potter's abused cousin, not able to wait for the churning in his stomach to still.

Black was still hanging on the wall. And he was sporting new bruises as well, across his face as well as his bared chest. But at least he was alive.

The thought startled him. When after all, would he have ever expected such relief to find Black alive? He squelched all thoughts of that ilk beneath his shields.

Black's head had lifted just the slightest bit when Severus had thrown the door open. He seemed to be trying desperately to look anywhere but at the Dursley boy. He glanced warily between the two Death Eaters. Severus turned to Pettigrew.

"I need your assistance, Pettigrew," he snapped. Pettigrew, his eyes lighting with hope, scrambled over to him. Severus moved his wand so quickly, Pettigrew had no time to move. "Imperio," he snapped. He heard Black making a strangled noise of surprise.

Pettigrew stared at him, his eyes wide as Severus plucked a single hair from the balding head, and then one from his own. Then he took a vial from his pocket and without further ado, Severus uncorked it and dropped the long black hair into it.

The brew sizzled.

He handed it to Pettigrew and ordered, "Drink it."

Pettigrew obediently took the vial and downed its contents. Severus and, presumably Black, watched as Pettigrew's ugly face became leaner, the bones sharpening in the pale face. Pettigrew's round body stretched upward.

"What the hell?"

Black's voice was even scratchier than it had been yesterday—it sounded slurred from extreme exhaustion as well. But water, and sleep, would have to wait. Severus didn't answer the other man's confused query. He simply took out another vial and dropped in Pettigrew's wiry hair. He drank it in one gulp and endured his change without a sound. He turned to Black.

"What's going on?" Black asked shakily. Severus gazed at him through Pettigrew's eyes.

"We're leaving," he answered brusquely.

--

**TBC...**

**Author's Notes: Thanks so much for all your interest in this story. Your feedback is what makes me want to get cracking on that next chapter. :oD And thanks as always, to the brilliant JadeSullivan and jolisgsd, my sounding boards. :o)**

**Suzy: Thank you so much for your kind words and review. They make it all worthwhile. **

**Andrea: Thank you very much! You really have me blushing with your praise. :o) You have no idea how glad I am you are enjoying this story as well. Thanks for all your support. **

**Lola: Thanks for your reading suggestion. I've read that fic and it is indeed a good story. And as for your concern about a fluffy Snape in this story: have no fear. Snape will not go anywhere near any fluff. Makes him nervous. ;o)**


	8. Out

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings belong to J.K. Rowling.**

**Chapter 8: Out**

Sirius stared at Snape, who was wearing Wormtail's face, wondering if the haughty Slytherin had finally cracked under the strain of his spying duties. "Leaving?" he asked, his voice scratching even more with his disbelief. Snape waved a silencing hand at him as he turned sharply back to Wormtail—the entire scene was completely disconcerting.

Snape touched Pettigrew's temple with the tip of his wand. Snape stared at the other man intently for several moments. And then, with a satisfied nod, Snape waved his wand toward Pettigrew in an intricate loop. Sirius recognized the Tracking Charm. Once finished applying the charm, Snape gestured to the closed door. Pettigrew, without a word, exited the rank room, closing the door softly behind him.

"We must remain here until the Dark Lord leaves," Snape informed Sirius curtly, still watching the closed door.

"What's happened?" Sirius whispered, suddenly feeling the need to keep his voice low. Snape didn't even turn around.

"It would best if you kept quiet," Snape said, his voice very soft in the near-darkness. Sirius, his fingers numb from being extended toward the ceiling for so long, couldn't even flex them with his frustration. He supposed though, that he should count himself fortunate that his fingers, along with his entire body, was so numb. He was so damn exhausted. And if it hadn't been for Snape's handy little Charm, he would also be in considerable pain.

Sirius' eyes narrowed as he watched the other man, intently staring at the door. He should have thought to ask earlier, he realized with a start. Especially with that little trick Snape—if it was indeed Snape—had just performed. Sirius tried to swallow, but there was absolutely no moisture in his mouth or throat. Some of Snape's water would come in handy about now. Although…it had probably been pretty stupid to drink anything that anyone in this infested house had offered him.

"How do I know you're really Snape?" he asked suspiciously, ignoring the way he was rasping. He was so thirsty… Snape finally turned. His eyes were narrowed.

"You tried to have your werewolf friend kill me when you were fifteen," he drawled. Sirius felt his face growing hot.

"I wasn't trying to kill you," he denied indignantly, though the effect was ruined by his abused vocal chords. And the breathy shout drained him even further. He would have sagged against the stone wall if he hadn't been held so stiffly against it. He let his chin dip a little as Snape raised an eyebrow in challenge. Sirius sighed. He didn't have the strength to argue, and he knew he had been stupid that night anyway. More than stupid…

He lapsed into silence, wondering if Snape really was going to get him out of here somehow. After he had told him so bluntly that no one was coming for him. Sirius lifted his head again, fear charging against his ribcage as his thoughts zeroed in on Harry. "Harry-"

"Be silent," Snape hissed at him before he whipped around again. Sirius frowned, even that small movement of his parched lips very difficult. But he did as Snape ordered, not wanting to upset whatever plans the Slytherin had in mind. Not if it meant reuniting with Harry. And whatever was happening, Harry was obviously still alive—otherwise Snape would not have bothered with him. Of _that_, Sirius was certain.

"Pettigrew is secured," Snape muttered a short time later, and Sirius wasn't sure if he was speaking only to himself. And then it was silent once more.

It seemed like hours had passed until Snape finally moved again; Sirius had watched him the entire time, his eyelids heavy but as it was throughout the rest of his captivity, sleep eluded him. There was the sound of light scraping against stone somewhere in the corridor. Severus couldn't even tense with the nerves he felt at the intrusion; his muscles felt like jelly.

The door swung open.

Bellatrix swayed in.

Snape immediately leapt aside, his hands and shoulders twitching nervously, in an almost perfect imitation of Pettigrew. Bellatrix glowered down at him. "The Dark Lord asked me to check up on you, Wormtail," she jeered in her high-pitched whinge. Snape flinched at the words, a clear insult to Pettigrew's pathetic abilities.

"I-I won't let-let my Lord down," Snape assured her, in a pathetic, stuttering cadence. Bellatrix's lips stretched into a mocking smile. She leaned in close to press her lips against his hairy ear. He trembled.

"If you do," she whispered, "I'll see that you and the Muggle boy have much in common."

Her tongue flicked out, like a serpent's, to lap harshly against Pettigrew's ear. Snape gasped in a sharp breath and even Sirius was convinced that Snape was terrified. Bellatrix drew her long tongue back, running it lightly along her bottom lip before it disappeared again. She pulled herself upright again, and with a lazy flick of her wand, Snape was brought to his knees with a dull crack.

He began whimpering. Bellatrix smiled down at him once more, this time with disgust, and then she turned to Sirius. Sirius gazed at her, unable to still his defiance. She stepped closer to him fluidly, until she was only centimeters from his face. "I will enjoy killing you," she told him simply. But then, her calm façade evaporated. "Filthy blood-traitor," she screeched, a few drops of spittle spraying over his cheeks. "The Muggles' deaths will seem peaceful next to what I have planned for you," she spat mercilessly. Sirius' cracked lips trembled, and he had to force his eyes not to flit to the dead boy on the floor. Bellatrix raised her wand, and chanted the words that he was so familiar with. Though he felt no pain, Sirius began to scream.

Bellatrix laughed, watching him intently. She released him a moment later, with a disappointed sigh. Sirius drew in a deep breath, trying to bring more oxygen into his brain. But he flinched as Bellatrix grazed her long fingernail against his jaw. "Until tomorrow," she promised softly. She smiled again as Sirius shuddered.

She turned away, still smiling. Before she slipped back into the dark corridor beyond, she flicked her wand toward the man she believed to be Pettigrew. Snape gasped and doubled over.

The door closed with a soft click.

Sirius struggled slightly against the wall, a reflex as he tried to expel the rawness in his throat. His temples thrummed with an erratic pulse as he gazed down at Snape. Snape was drawing in a breathy draught of air as he levered his palm against the moldy floor. He pushed himself up to stand, the movement almost smooth. Sirius could see the tension throughout Snape's frame as the other man stared at the door.

Again, time crawled so slowly that Sirius almost thought he could feel the aches that Snape's spell was supposed to be blocking.

"The manor is empty," Snape announced, and without realizing he was doing it, Sirius bucked against the invisible restraints. His effort was futile; he remained affixed to the craggy stones. Snape turned around. He flicked his wand, and Sirius gasped as his arms and legs began flailing in midair. Another flick from Snape's wand, and Sirius was slithering down the wall, coming to a stop as a crumpled heap on the floor.

He lifted his head; the effort cost him dearly. He felt a waving nausea slam through him. He began retching, his fingers trying and failing to find purchase against the slimy stones. He vaguely thought he heard a noise of disgust, but it seemed very far away. A second later, Sirius clearly heard a snapped, "Lavare."

An unfamiliar fresh scent surrounded him. Apparently, Snape could abide his smell no longer. He wanted to tell the damn git that it wasn't his fault that he'd been denied a toilet. But all he could do was slump back against the wall.

--

Severus glared down at Black; the man was essentially a puddle of human flesh and bones. Severus growled irritably as he reached down and gripped the puddle around his waist. Ignoring his mind screaming at him that he was touching Sirius Black, Severus grasped Black's wrist and draped his entire arm over his shoulder. Severus hoisted the slack man up. Black mumbled something that sounded like an insistence that he didn't need help. Severus ignored _that_ as well, and started the trek out of the manor, moving as swiftly as Black's half-dragging legs would allow.

It took less than ten minutes to clear the property. Severus, his eyes surveying the barren landscape, slipped past the abandoned shack at the edge of the property and hauled Black into the thick stand of trees beyond. It took longer than Severus would have liked, to find the small copse of bushy trees. Pettigrew, his face still morphed into Severus' was sitting under one of the trees, waiting for them.

Severus loosened his hold on Black, allowing the other man to sink to his knees on the mossy earth. Severus pulled two more vials from his pocket. He handed one to Pettigrew, and downed the contents of the other himself. He waited until he was back in his familiar form before waving his wand; Pettigrew drank the dark potion. Severus watched as Pettigrew morphed back into his nervous, chattering self again.

"Do you have enough strength to transform into the mutt?" Severus asked Black, who was watching the proceedings warily. Black furrowed his brow, apparently having to mull the relatively simple question over. He shook his head.

"Tired," he muttered. Severus scowled, and not even pausing to ask permission, he turned his wand on Black, and within seconds, a huge black dog was staring back at him. The mutt growled at him as he stood.

"Better?" Severus drawled. If dogs could scowl, this one certainly would have been. Severus smirked and gestured to Pettigrew. "Bite him," he directed. The mutt stared at him. "I cannot imitate a dog's bite, or its saliva with my wand, Black," Severus snapped. "I will tear his clothes, and add a few scratches." The mutt continued to stare at him. "If you want to see your _precious_ godson, Black, I suggest you get on with it," Severus snarled.

Mention of the miniature Potter snapped the mutt right out of his stupor. He bared his teeth and stalked toward Pettigrew. Pettigrew's eyes went huge with fear. With a sharp wave of Severus' wand, Pettigrew became rooted to the forest floor. The mutt hesitated, looking uncertain. But then his eyes hardened. The mutt lunged toward Pettigrew's right ankle, his teeth sinking into the flesh with ease. Pettigrew shrieked. Severus nodded in satisfaction as he heard the crunch of a few bones. The mutt released the screaming man. He sat back on his haunches, his head drooping down, obviously drained by that small exertion.

Severus completed his part of the illusion with a complicated series of flicks with his wand. All of Pettigrew's incriminating memories were erased. And he began hobbling back to the dirt road past the hovel, where he would wait for an extremely disappointed Dark Lord to return.

The mutt was lying in the moss now. His limbs were quivering, but Severus couldn't tell if it was from anticipation or from the past days of torture. He did seem to be glaring at Severus, though so it was likely the former. He was _anxious_ to see Potter. Though how anyone could feel anything but irritation when they were around the presumptuous brat, Severus really couldn't understand.

With another spell, the mutt morphed back into Black. "Harry," Black muttered as he struggled to his knees. Snape pursed his lips; he curled his long fingers around Black's bicep and hauled him to his feet.

"Your godson has managed to work himself up into quite a state," Severus informed the mutt-turned man in his grasp. Black's head shot up, his grey eyes flashing.

"Wha-"

The rest of his furious words were swallowed up as Severus spun, turning both of them inside out.

They landed, both of them feet first, on the grassy knoll just beyond the boundary. Black sputtered and coughed violently, but Severus dragged him forward, giving him no time to regain his breath. He felt the security of the wards wash over him, but he didn't slow his pace.

"Sna—wait!" Black was protesting as he was pulled across the grass. Severus halted as soon as they reached the door. He released Black's arm abruptly. Black clawed wildly at the doorframe, before finding purchase with both of his hands. "Where…is…he?" he panted as he held to the frame with all his strength; his legs were beginning to wobble.

Severus ignored the asinine question and spelled the door open. Dodgy, as expected, was hovering just inside the door. His ridiculously large eyes widened at the sight of Black. "Potter's godfather," Severus said tersely, and with the introductions concluded, he swept past both stupefied creatures. He stalked past Potter's room without looking in, and then his own bedroom door slammed behind him.

--

"Harry," Sirius croaked toward the little elf in his path. The elf nodded madly.

"Dodgy will take Harry Potter's godfather to Harry Potter," the elf—Dodgy apparently—told him eagerly. Sirius nodded, hoping this Dodgy would move swiftly so he could collapse as soon as he found Harry. Dodgy beckoned him forward and Sirius attempted to comply, but as soon as he released his hold on the rotting door frame, his legs buckled and he flopped to the floor.

"Damn," he groaned as pain shot through his knees. Snape's spell seemed to have worn off. Dodgy rushed toward him and before Sirius had a chance to realize what the elf had in mind, he was turned inside out for the second time that night.

"Harry Potter, sir."

Sirius struggled past his wheezing to grab the edge of the bed in front of him. He pulled himself up, his stomach roiling with his sudden movements. "Harry," he breathed as he spotted the familiar, messy head of raven hair.

"Harry Potter is sick," Dodgy whispered from behind him. Sirius, forcing himself to ignore the nausea and sheer exhaustion, pushed his legs up and hoisted himself up onto the bed. Harry was curled into a ball so tight, Sirius didn't think he would be able to pry him straight again. Harry's lungs were moving in gently rhythmic breaths; he was asleep. He looked all right though…

Leaning forward tentatively, Sirius smoothed a quiet hand over Harry's hair. "Harry," he prompted softly. Harry jerked convulsively away from him.

"No," he groaned. The piteous sound made Sirius' stomach clench. Harry's knees drew up even further into his chest. Sirius' hand moved to Harry's shoulder; Harry flinched away again. Sirius twisted around to glare at Dodgy.

"What's wrong with him?" he demanded, the words finding their way past his raw throat somehow.

Dodgy's hands flailed pointlessly in the space around his head. "Dodgy does not know, sir. Harry Potter has been crying since Master Snape left. Harry Potter would not talk to Dodgy…and Harry Potter will not eat."

Sirius turned abruptly back to his godson. What the hell had Snape _done_?

"Harry?" Sirius questioned softly, shaking his godson's shoulder as gently as he could. Harry's shoulder began to tremble under his hand.

"Please…just leave me alone, sir," Harry pleaded, his voice filled with fear. _Fear_. Sirius felt rage beginning to boil beneath his skin. Snape had done this to Harry.

"Harry," Sirius whispered calmly as he leaned over so he could see his godson's face, "it's me…it's Sirius."

Harry's body convulsed with a strange, gasping sob. "Don't," he moaned. "Sirius is going to die. I believe you now," he whispered, sounding horribly desperate as he tried to turn his head away. Sirius pushed down the rage that, later, would most likely make him rip Snape's throat out. He cupped Harry's chin in his fingers and eased his face around. Harry's eyes were squeezed tightly shut.

Sirius' other hand strayed up to Harry's flopped-over fringe. "It's all right…open your eyes," he commanded gently as his fingers affectionately brushed the errant strands away from Harry's scrunched eyes, where they seemed to spend too much of their time…just like James'. "…remember when I told you how very like your mother's they are?" He smiled a little as he remembered the night Harry had given him his life back.

Harry drew in a sharp, unsteady breath. Sirius kept his hands pressed lightly against Harry's face and hair, to let Harry know he wasn't going to go anywhere. The lined eyelids slowly pulled apart.

Harry's green eyes were dull and bloodshot against the harsh light above them. He blinked, but Sirius didn't think Harry understood what he was seeing.

"Sirius?"

Sirius nodded, though his smile faltered as Harry's voice cracked.

"What happened?" Sirius asked, his heart beginning to pound sharply against his ribcage. Harry gripped his forearm.

"Sirius," Harry murmured again; his fingers were digging painfully into Sirius' skin. Ignoring the pain, as well as the ache throughout his entire body, Sirius leaned down as Harry's eyes began to well up with tears. He'd never seen Harry cry—not even after Cedric had been killed. Whatever had happened here, Harry wasn't himself at all.

"It's all right, Harry. Whatever's happened, I'm here now. It's all right," he soothed, his words taking on a melodious cadence he didn't think he'd ever used before, as he tried to reassure his godson. Harry gulped in another huge rush of trembling air, and then the tears that were gathered in his eyes spilled over. Sirius, using the last bit of strength he had, pulled Harry up and into his chest. He pressed his fingertips into the back of Harry's head, using the pads of his fingers to trace soothing patterns into Harry's scalp. "Shh," he murmured as he held his godson close. "It's all right."

Harry shuddered and then his arms were wound tightly around Sirius' back. The grip was so fierce, Sirius couldn't draw a full breath, _and_ he was perched rather precariously on the very edge of the bed. But it didn't matter. Harry needed him. So, Sirius ignored his own discomfort and tightened his hold around his distraught godson. He let Harry cry into his chest, unwilling to move, even if he had to sit like this for the rest of the night.

He would kill Snape in the morning.

--

The moon illuminated the tall figure standing amongst the ashes that used to be Number Four Privet Drive, in the middle of the circle of his most loyal minions.

The circle was cast in shadow.

The figure did not move, his gleaming crimson eyes focusing on things only he could see. He was waiting for the boy who would bring him eternal life—the thing he craved the most. He had waited for far too long—something else the boy would pay for.

The breeze whipped around his robes, and they fluttered peacefully in the darkened night. The Muggles were silent around them—for now. Privet Drive, the place that had thwarted him, the place that had provided refuge for his enemy for so many years would be the first to fall. His servants would enjoy their reward. They would not fail him.

Severus would not fail him either.

Harry Potter would die tonight.

--

**TBC...**

**Author's Notes: This chapter is for my mom...I finally have her rooting for Sirius! And thanks to both she and JadeSullivan for their help in getting these chapters out to you so soon. (and for their enthusiasm which keeps me going) Thanks to all my reviewers...my keyboard loves you! :o)**

**Suzy: Here's another quick update for ya! Hope you enjoyed this installment, and thanks so much for the review. **

**mcrbrat97: I am a great lover of Sirius as well. But I suppose that's pretty obvious! :oP Thanks for the review. **

**:): Thanks so much for the compliments. And yep, middle of the night reading is the very best, isn't it? :oD**


	9. From the Center

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings belong to J.K. Rowling**

**Author's Note: Scenes of violence. Huge thanks to my mom and JadeSullivan for all their help with this chapter, especially with Snape. **

**Chapter 9: From the Center**

Severus scowled at the little round orb on his desk. Potter wa_s _desperately gripping Black's waist. And from the way he was shaking, Potter was obviously sobbing—with joy that Black was alive. Black hadn't even been able to walk on his own, like some pathetic cripple. He had done nothing for Potter. And yet, there Potter sat, _clinging_ to Black as though Black had defeated the Dark Lord himself. Severus' scowl deepened.

Black's mouth was barely moving as he whispered words that would be meant to soothe his godson. And the brat was inexplicably responding, his face suffused with relief. Though Black's features were oddly soft, he looked murderous. No doubt Severus would be hearing from him before morning broke. As if he could have helped Potter's state of complete collapse.

But _of course_, he would be blamed. Black could rot in hell for all he cared. He would not justify himself to the other man. He had done what he had to do; he could easily squash the vague twinges of regret for hurting the boy when they rose up without his permission He had saved _both_ of their miserable lives, and yet he knew that would count for nothing with Potter and Black. They would blame him. And this time, it hadn't been his fault; he hadn't had a choice.

With a soft snarl, Severus waved his fingers over the orb. It went dark. He had a moment's irrational urge to hurl the glass viewing plane against the wall. It would be satisfying to watch it split into hundreds of tiny shards. It had been used more in the past few days, than it ever had been since Severus acquired it. But he wouldn't need it any longer. Black could keep watch over his beloved godson now.

Severus spun away from the desk, and the telling orb. It would be a few hours before the Dark Lord would grow impatient to complete his plans. A shower first, he decided, pulling off his boots and cloak quickly. The stench of both Black and his filthy accommodations clung heavily to him. He would wash the Dark Lord's breath from his skin as well. And then he would sleep. It would be much worse if he was tired.

Severus stepped into the pristine shower stall, completely naked. The hot water instantly burned his skin. But he kept his teeth tightly together as he dealt with the heat, as he performed the same ritual he always used before he was summoned. To prepare his body for pain. Just as his nerves began to protest, he plucked the soap from its perch and began to scrub. He covered every inch of his body with the harsh, gritty soap. When he'd finished, he placed the soap back where it belonged, with practiced movements and gripped his left forearm, digging his nails into the Mark until it brought a gasp from his throat, trying futiley to rid himself of the thing he loathed. His nails continued to gouge the blemish as he stepped back under the soaking jet. He allowed the rest of the filth, that had collected over the years, to be washed away.

--

Sirius grunted in pain as he came into awareness of his surroundings. Every centimeter of his body was screaming out in protest as he shifted slightly. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but at least Harry had gone back to sleep as well. Sirius' arms were numb, still stiffly in place around his godson's back. But he didn't regret the position he was in. He was simply grateful to have Harry back.

The sky was dark now, from what Sirius could see through the tiny window above their heads. Still exhausted, he moved his head only enough to quickly survey the room. Dodgy was curled into a little ball beside the bed; he hadn't even made himself a place to rest.

Sirius narrowed his eyes slightly at the tray of food that was perched precariously on the little table beside the bed. The bread looked stale. Harry would need to eat as soon as he woke up. He wondered briefly if he'd even be able to get his godson to eat, since the obviously kind-hearted elf hadn't been able to.

But Sirius put the thought aside as his grey eyes spotted Harry's wand, neatly tucked behind the tray of untouched food. At least Snape hadn't deprived Harry of that. Sirius narrowed his eyes as he gazed at the closed door across the corridor. Whatever Snape had done to his godson, he had allowed Harry to keep what was essentially a weapon. And from what Sirius had gathered from Harry's past school years' efforts, he was a very skilled young wizard when it came to defense.

Harry shifted a little against Sirius' chest. Harry's cheek was warm against his bare shoulder. His godson mumbled something; Sirius bent his head a little closer to the dark mop of hair, but no more words made it out of Harry's lips. Sirius frowned, attempting to figure out just what had gone on here that would explain why Harry was still clinging to him, even in sleep.

Perhaps he was waking up…

"Harry?" he prodded gently.

Harry stirred again. Sirius gave the boys' shoulder a light squeeze, and waited rather impatiently while Harry lifted his groggy, green eyes upward; they widened, just as they had when Sirius had arrived.

"Sirius?" He blinked several times, shaking his head slowly. "You're really here…"

Sirius smiled at him, his face filled with warmth. "Did you fancy me a nightmare?"

Harry smiled, but his eyes were much too dark to make the expression anything other than sad. He shook his head. "Snape said—he said you were—that no one could-" He shook his head as his eyes glazed with tears again, but this time they didn't leak past the rims.

Sirius squeezed him again, but Harry was almost rigid against him now. "I'm all right," Sirius reassured him, though in reality, it was a lie. He felt almost as close to passing out as he had last night. "I'm sorry, Harry." His words were sorrowful, his chest aching. He had to force himself to ask, "What happened? Did you suffer any other Crucios? Did Snape hurt you?" His hands were already trembling with the last question. He held his breath as he waited for an answer.

Harry swallowed noisily as he slid his eyes to the small bureau at the foot of the bed. His cheeks were stained with red. With embarrassment…or anger?

"Harry?"

"I don't—I'm not sure," Harry said, the words so soft that Sirius had to lean down again to catch them. His eyebrows were squished together with confusion. But he didn't have the chance to ask Harry what he meant.

There was a soft click from behind and instinctively, Sirius swung his head about. Harry jerked sharply against the sudden shift. And for an instant, Sirius' and Harry's eyes were locked with Snape's narrowed black gaze.

There was absolutely no trace of emotion in the gaze; his eyes were cold and dispassionate. Caring nothing for Harry's suffering. Cold anger began to spread slowly through Sirius' chest. Snape had hurt his godson. It didn't matter that Snape had saved Sirius' life. He would pay for whatever he'd done to Harry.

"Touching," Snape sneered through his lips.

Sirius stared at him. He could feel his arms beginning to quiver against Harry's back. "What did you do to him?" he whispered fiercely. Spittle flecked across Harry's hair with the words.

"_Do_ to him?" Snape echoed, his lips twisted into a malicious smile. "If I hadn't been here, Black, your godson would most certainly be dead." He paused to consider the pair. "And you as well, or had you forgotten?" he drawled.

"And that makes whatever you did to Harry all right, then?" Sirius demanded, his voice breaking from its whisper. "Just so long as you've kept him alive?"

"I have done _nothing_ to him," Snape shot back, his back straightening with what might have been indignance for anyone else. Anyone but Snape, with his self-righteous hatred.

"Nothing?" Sirius' arms tightened protectively around Harry. "He would barely let me touch him. And he was begging with me to stop as soon as I did."

"It is not my concern if Potter is averse to your touch," Snape told him disdainfully. "Perhaps you should endeavor not to touch him, unless of course you enjoy that sort of thing…" Snape's eyes were glittering now.

Harry stiffened against Sirius. Sirius squeezed his godson reassuringly. "Ignore him," he commanded lightly. Then he gently pulled Harry away from him. He turned slowly to face Snape fully, but kept his hand on Harry's shoulder.

He could feel the fury heating his neck and face as he glared at the other man. "Harry thought I was _you_ last night, Snape. Why would _my_ godson need to beg _you_ not to touch him?" His voice was rising steadily.

Snape didn't seem to register the question or the anger. "For the same reason he bears Umbridge's scars. He is as stubborn as his father."

Sirius' vision blurred with white-hot fury.

He hadn't realized he'd lunged toward Snape until he found himself sitting on the floor, looking around dazedly at a dimly lit mass of shapes and muted colors.

"Sirius!"

"Perhaps you should ask Potter why he would have rather died than allow me to assist him…he almost got his wish." The words were muffled and blurred. And Sirius wasn't exactly sure who had said them. The darkness was very enticing though.

--

Black slumped against Potter, his eyes almost closed. The boy gripped Black's bare arms as he fumbled, trying to keep his balance with the sudden weight of his dazed godfather. Potter managed to stay upright, so Severus turned his eyes to the sleeping house-elf.

"Dodgy," he snapped impatiently. Dodgy sprang up from the floor, as though he was on strings.

"What can Dodgy do for Master Snape, sir?" he asked crisply, not a trace of sleep in his voice or posture.

"I am leaving. Touch Potter's amulet to contact me if he enters a Cruciatus cycle," Severus directed, repeating the same words he'd used the other times he'd left Potter alone in the shack.

"But…"

Severus turned his head away from Dodgy at the whispered word. Potter was staring at him, his emerald eyes blinking rapidly. Severus almost pivoted toward the sitting room, but Potter was simply gazing at him, the look holding neither anger nor defiance. And Severus heard himself biting out a demanded, "_What_ Potter?"

Potter held his gaze, his fingers flexing nervously against Black's biceps. "Nothing…sir." Potter's head was waving back and forth briskly in denial, but his eyes gave him away as they darted to Black's face.

Severus clenched his jaw and pivoted away, retracing his steps back into his room, irritated at himself for giving in to the wounded look on Potter's face. He shouldn't care that Potter looked completely helpless…almost pleading. He _didn't_ care.

He wrenched open the cupboard door and deftly retrieved a minty green potion. With a sharp flick of his wrist, the door closed again and Severus was stepping with loud footsteps out the door and across the hall.

He paused before he crossed over the threshold into Potter's room.

Potter was watching him warily; he'd obviously been waiting tensely for him to reemerge from the other room. They stared at one another, Potter's chest rising and falling more rapidly than it should have been. But Severus told himself he didn't care that a sixteen year-old boy was afraid of him, no matter that the trembling of his own fingers told him otherwise. His students _should_ fear him. He ignored the trembling and allowed the thought of Potter's fear to buoy him. He pushed the vial from his fingers. It floated lazily toward Potter, stopping and hovering in front of his face.

"It will dull the pain and help him sleep." Severus' voice was flat.

Potter blinked, his eyebrows furrowing in surprise. Giving him no chance to comment, Severus spun away in a flourish of silky black robes.

Harry stared after the Potions master, his throbbing heart slowing as he watched Snape's robes disappear.

A soft moan escaped Sirius' lips and Harry glanced down quickly. "Are you all right?" he asked anxiously. Sirius didn't even attempt to move, except for a slow nod of his head. "Can you get up, Sirius?"

Harry watched Sirius grimace, the expression even more unsettling from Harry's upside down vantage point. "Don't…think so," he said, almost breathlessly.

"Dodgy is happy to help Harry Potter's godfather," the little elf interjected eagerly, coming to stand right next to Sirius; his hands were clasped tightly together as though he was trying to restrain himself from helping before he was given permission.

Harry tried to smile a little at the well-meaning elf, but it didn't come out right. He glanced warily at the vial still waiting in front of his nose before tentatively closing his fingers around it. "Do you think it's safe, Sirius?" he asked, turning his eyes to his godfather's pale face. He hated to even have bother him with the possibility that Snape had given him a vial full of poison, but Snape had simply given it to him…just like that, no strings, and no sneering words. If it hadn't been Snape, Harry would have said he had been feeling something akin to compassion.

Sirius' half-smile looked like a frown. Or maybe it was another grimace. "He…didn't…won't hurt me."

Harry tilted his head in confusion. _He hates you_, he wanted to point out logically, but it seemed oddly cruel to say that to Sirius. "But it's Snape." It was the kindest way to put it.

Sirius' eyes were glassy but Harry could see that he was struggling with something. Something he couldn't understand. "…he…didn't allow Bellatrix to torture me…used a spell." Sirius was almost panting the words.

Harry's fingers tightened angrily around the little vial. The words hurt so much, Harry almost couldn't breathe. "So he could have you all to himself?" His words trembled as much as his fingers.

Sirius' eyes crinkled with even more confusion, even as he winced against some invisible pain. "He...didn't. "Bellatrix hurt me…Snape…stopped the pain."

Harry stared at Sirius, shocked beyond rational thought. Snape… Snape hadn't tortured Sirius? But he had admitted he had_…hadn't he? _

"Harry." The word was a rustled breath. Harry blinked, trying to focus. "…did he mean…helping you?" A light sheen of sweat beaded over Sirius' brow as he forced himself to complete the sentence. Harry's stomach flip-flopped at the question. He didn't want to talk about this now…not with Sirius in so much pain. Sirius would expend too much energy worrying over him. He didn't think Sirius should be having so much trouble talking...as if each breath hurt him.

"He stopped the Cruciatus Curses," Harry answered evasively. "Dodgy can help me get you into the bed," he tacked on quickly. Sirius tried to shake his head, but he had to give up mid-motion.

"Harry…" It was odd—Sirius' voice was both concerned and slightly reproving at the same time. But perhaps Harry was only imagining it because he was purposely trying to avoid a conversation about what had happened in Sirius' absence. But Sirius didn't seem to be able to finish whatever he'd wanted to say. And he was grimacing again.

Harry turned his face up to find Dodgy still waiting impatiently for them.

"Gently, Dodgy, okay?"

Dodgy nodded happily.

--

The Mark began to burn even before he'd reached the door; Severus swore silently to himself. He preferred to expend some energy by walking outside before a summons, if he was aware it would be coming. But there would be no time to prepare his mind further this time. He placed the customary Locking Spells on the door as he slammed it behind him. He didn't think Potter was quite stupid enough to actually attempt to drag a nearly-unconscious man with him as he escaped, but there was no reason to take chances.

Once he was past the wards, Severus masked himself. He closed his eyes, took a deep, strengthening breath and turned on the spot. He popped back into existence in the next instant, He drew in a harsh breath.

Privet Drive was consumed in flames.

The entire street was burning. And the Dark Lord was watching placidly from the ashes where Potter had once dwelled. His lips stretched over his teeth as Severus joined the other Death Eaters in the circle. The expression was not a smile; Severus immediately dropped to his knees and prostrated himself.

"You have failed me." Disappointment soaked like blood through the Dark Lord's voice. And fury titillated the words.

"Forgive me, my Lord," Severus begged, breathing in ashes as he pleaded. "Dumbledore found Potter. He is under heavy guard, my Lord-"

Without a sound to warn him, Severus' body was seized with pain. He gasped harshly, soot filling his mouth and lungs. He began coughing violently as his lungs tried to expel the ashes. He was writhing against the ground as the agony tore through him, even as the coughing turned to retching. The pain didn't recede, even as Severus began vomiting, the dull greenish substance ejecting in brutal spasms across the black earth.

"I had such plans for Harry, Severus."

The voice was almost submerged beneath the pain, but Severus struggled to pull himself away from the tidal wave that was threatening to drown him. He needed to focus on the words…to keep the pain at bay, so that he would be ready as soon as the Dark Lord was satisfied that he had been punished enough.

"I am beginning to wonder, Severus, if you are of any use to me any longer."

Severus struggled against the cold ground, wanting to assure the Dark Lord that he needed him, but the words wouldn't form in his brain. His stomach was emptied now, and he continued to cough sporadically between the hisses of pain through his teeth. He couldn't seem to force his jaw apart. He needed to speak. But the voices above him wouldn't relent.

"…_sequor_."

"…my pleasure, my Lord. At your command."

"…don't want to waste it, Severus…don't kill him, Yaxley…we need him."

The words were welcome against the vicious assault. But all thoughts of the expected reprieve flew from Severus' mind as he began to feel heat on his skin. It was a scorching heat, and it was very close to his face. Severus began to scream.

He couldn't move…couldn't squelch the flames that were scorching him. He watched the fire, in helpless horror, as he was purposefully burned alive. And then, as he began to welcome the release that death would bring, he was no longer burning. Steam rose in a black sheet from his body.

Sirens broke against the silence of Privet Drive, and there were dozens of pops in the hazy perimeter around Severus' mind. The wail of the Muggle sirens was no louder than whispers to Severus. But he had to leave. The whispers were insistent. And still his lips would not move. He couldn't even feel his lips.

The rustle of robes had vanished. And Severus could only see fuzzy darkness above him, unbroken by the blurred faces that had been there only seconds ago. He was alone now. And even the black night was darker than it had been. Fading…Privet Drive was fading around him. He couldn't even see the towering flames anymore.

Gathering all the strength he possessed, Severus forced his mind to focus as it insisted on wandering toward darkness. _Portus_, he insisted. Over and over, he repeated the silent command until the darkness began to creep over the edges of his vision.

--

TBC...


	10. Spreading

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings belong to J.K. Rowling**

**Author's Notes: Possible disturbing images.**

**Chapter 9: Spreading**

Harry wasn't sleeping. Rather, he was watching to make sure Sirius slept. And that he was still breathing. Besides, he couldn't stop thinking about Snape.

There was a soft whooshing noise from somewhere outside Harry's door. Harry brought his head up from where it was resting beside Sirius'. Dodgy had turned toward the sound as well; he gasped.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, pitching his voice low so that he wouldn't disturb Sirius as he sat up; he stilled. The door across the hall was still open and Harry could see a human-size lump on Snape's bed. It didn't look like it was moving. "Dodgy," he hissed. The little elf was moving toward whatever it was. Harry eased off the bed, swiping his wand from where it lay beside his uneaten tray of food. The abrupt movements left him slightly light-headed.

"Harry Potter must stay here," Dodgy whispered as he crossed into the corridor. Harry slunk forward, his wand at the ready. He could feel the magic of Snape's force field before he even reached the doorway. He wondered briefly if the damn thing worked both ways and would keep an intruder out, though it seemed very unlikely that someone who meant them harm would be able to enter the shack. It was only an assumption of course, but it must have been placed under the Fidelius—

"Master Snape, sir."

Harry tensed at the breathless words. Dodgy's wiry little hands were clasped against his mouth. His perpetually wide eyes were even wider than they usually were.

"Dodgy?" Harry questioned, his voice not quite as low as it had been a moment ago. Dodgy turned back to him, his expression and the placement of his hands unmoving.

"Master Snape has returned, Harry Potter, sir," he said, his voice warbling up and down with anxiety. Harry stared at him for a few seconds before his gaze travelled back to the bed. That _lump_ was Snape?

"Is he-" Harry swallowed, "-is he all right?" Stupid question really. Dodgy wouldn't look like that if he was. Dodgy shook his head slowly, his eyes turning back to Snape.

"Someone is burning Master Snape…"

"Burning?" Harry's voice rose several octaves. He glanced once back toward Sirius, but Sirius was still sleeping soundly. "Is he…" Harry swallowed, "…is he…dead?" The thought sent a spasm through Harry's gut. But Dodgy shook his large head.

"Master Snape is breathing…Dodgy is not knowing what to do…" The little elf sounded completely bewildered. He began wringing his hands agitatedly. Harry stepped as close as he dared to the invisible shield.

"Dodgy, can you let me out? Maybe I can help."

Dodgy looked back at Harry. "Master Snape is telling Dodgy-"

"Can _you_ help him?" Harry interrupted, not really wanting to hear what Snape had told the elf. Dodgy's eyes were beginning to look a little wet.

"Dodgy is not knowing how to help Master Snape, Harry Potter, sir," he said forlornly.

Harry stared at Snape. He could clearly see now that Snape's robes were charred. And Snape's chest was barely rising at all.

"Can you get Madame Pomfrey?" Harry asked quietly; he was having a difficult time speaking. This couldn't have been an accident…and right after Snape had rescued Sirius. Harry swallowed hard.

Dodgy was shaking his head nervously. "Professor Dumbledore's magic is not allowing anyone else to enter the shack, Harry Potter, sir."

Harry wasn't certain what he meant by that, but Dodgy seemed certain of it, so he said firmly, "Then you have to go to Pomfrey and tell her what happened to Snape. She'll be able to tell us what to do. And you need to let me out of here so I can help you."

Dodgy looked uncertainly between Snape and Harry. "Harry Potter is not-"

Harry ignored the slight rushing of nerves in his ears as he gazed at Dodgy. "You have my word that I won't try to leave. And Snape will die if we don't help him." He didn't know if it was true or not, since he couldn't see the full extent of whatever had been done to Snape, but he figured it was best to be a little overdramatic with Dodgy, if the elf was anything like Dobby.

It seemed Dodgy was. His round eyes widened. And then Harry could feel the air crackling as Snape's shield dissolved.

Sparing one last glance for his sleeping godfather, Harry walked with hesitant steps across the hall. "Go," he encouraged the elf quietly as he made his way slowly to Snape's bed. There was a loud crack and Dodgy disappeared. Harry stepped up to Snape's bed. And as soon as he saw the professor, his lips began to quiver and his mouth parted in shock.

Without his permission, Harry's eyes squeezed shut and his knees buckled. He was grateful in that next moment that his stomach was empty. His gut contracted painfully as he gripped the edge of Snape's bed in an almost futile effort to stop himself from falling.

His knees only narrowly missed smacking up against the worn wood floors.

Harry eased himself down the last few centimeters, his eyes still closed. But the image of Snape's burnt face swam in front of his eyelids; the man was almost unrecognizable. Harry tried to draw a breath, as the nightmarish image taunted him. The next breath was easier; his stomach muscles were almost ready to cooperate, even more so with each slow in and out of his diaphragm.

_I've faced a basilisk_, Harry told himself firmly. _And Voldemort_. The encouragement didn't help much; he'd been scared as hell each time. Harry ignored the memories of the Basilisk and Voldemort as he slowly, using the top of the mattress for leverage, pulled himself up again.

One more steadying breath. Harry forced himself to open his eyes.

The disfigured face was still there.

_Snape_.

Harry didn't feel any of the fear that had overwhelmed him every time he'd gazed at this man over the past few days. His stomach still fluttered uneasily, but it was with disgust at what Voldemort had done to Snape. Or at least Harry assumed this had been deliberate. _Why_ had Snape gone back to Voldemort if there had been any chance that he would be punished for rescuing Sirius?

Harry swallowed as he remembered how safe he'd felt, wrapped in Sirius' arms a few hours ago. How childish the feeling had been. He hadn't even been able to answer Sirius when he'd asked what had happened. How was he supposed to explain that he was terrified of Snape for reasons he didn't entirely understand?

He'd been certain that Snape had wanted to hurt him—had been gleeful as he watched Harry suffer. But Harry couldn't really remember much of what happened, except that after he went through a _Crucio_, he found himself inexplicably terrified that Snape would assault him. He felt violated. And he didn't even know why.

Snape couldn't have meant to hurt him, or at least he couldn't have _wanted_ to hurt him. Not if he'd saved Sirius. And not only that, if Sirius was actually remembering correctly, Snape hadn't even tortured Sirius. He'd even stopped Bellatrix and whoever else from hurting him too badly. But even though Sirius had said it, Harry couldn't believe it. Especially since Snape had all but sneered that he was enjoying Sirius' torture.

And now it seemed that Snape had been tortured as well. And Harry felt as much revulsion at the thought of Snape being tortured as he had Sirius.

There was a loud crack and Dodgy was beside Harry once more, thrusting a vial toward him. "Madame Pomfrey says that Harry Potter is to give this potion to Master Snape. Madame Pomfrey says it will keep Master Snape's heart pumping while Harry Potter and Dodgy heal the burns."

Harry took the vial uncertainly as he tried to calm his heartbeat; the sudden Apparation had startled him. "But he can't drink this." Dodgy waved his hand impatiently. The contents of the little vial vanished. "What happened to it?" Harry asked with surprise.

"Dodgy spelled the potion into Master Snape's stomach, Harry Potter, sir." Dodgy handed Harry a jar filled with a grayish substance. "Dodgy must go back for more instructions. Madame Pomfrey says Harry Potter is to put Burn Salve all over Master Snape's burns." Dodgy was speaking so swiftly that Harry almost couldn't catch all of the words. He did, however, hear the last of Dodgy's following long list of instructions; his face flushed instantly.

"I can't do that!" he protested. Dodgy nodded his head fervently.

"Harry Potter _must_ do it," he squeaked. "Madame Pomfrey says the Burn Salve must cover Master Snape's entire body."

"But his clothes are burned to his skin," Harry said quietly, his stomach turning over again, momentarily forgetting that Dodgy had just informed him that he would have actually have to _touch_ Snape.

"Madame Pomfrey says Dodgy is to remove Master Snape's clothing."

"How?" _Surely Snape wouldn't keep scissors in his little shack._

Instead of answering, Dodgy narrowed his eyes as he concentrated on Snape's body. And then with several tearing sounds that made Harry feel faint, and Dodgy wince, Snape's mutilated body was laid bare.

Harry could hardly breathe. Snape's entire body was covered in angry red and black blisters. And some of the skin had been torn away with the fabric. Harry began to feel lightheaded again as he watched the broken skin begin to ooze.

"Harry Potter must sit down," Dodgy was saying anxiously. Harry closed his eyes briefly and forced himself to breathe slowly, in through his nose and out through his mouth.

"I'm all right." He opened his eyes again, but he focused on Dodgy's face this time. "Will you ask Pomfrey for some potions for Sirius as well? He was having trouble breathing and he's covered with bruises. I'm not sure I should wake him…"

"Harry Potter's godfather needs to rest, Harry Potter, sir. Dodgy is getting potions," the elf said reassuringly. Harry nodded, trying to keep his eyes from straying to the sickening burns all over Snape's body; it was hard enough to simply look at his face.

There was another loud crack as Dodgy Disapparated and Harry was left alone with Snape. He set his jaw as he glanced once more at the jar of gray goo. And then he glanced back at Sirius, still sleeping in the bed across the hall. He wished he could run across the hall, shake Sirius awake and beg for help. But Sirius probably wouldn't even be able to stand yet.

Harry twisted the jar's cap agitatedly; he wasn't a baby, damn it!

And Snape had rescued Sirius. Surely applying a little goo to the man wouldn't kill him—even if he was covered in sickening, leaking boils. Nodding his head in determination, Harry pocketed his wand, untwisted the cap and hoped fervently that Snape would stay unconscious while he worked.

Harry scooped some of the salve into his cupped fingers. He grit his teeth and, pressed the salve into Snape's shoulder; he couldn't quite bring himself to touch the professor's face yet. He kept his eyes on his own hand as he worked, doing his best not to notice the texture of the burns or the glistening, raw patches where the skin had been torn away. A generous amount of salve on his fingers helped with that, as long as he didn't linger. Apply and rub. Apply and rub. Harry kept at it, the rhythm unbroken, the view of his goo-gloppy fingers remaining alone in Harry's vision, until Snape was covered in the grayish salve.

Harry dropped his hand; his fingers were beginning to cramp. But he wasn't done. _Almost_ his entire body had been covered in the healing goo.

Harry turned to face his nemesis. It was easier with the taunting black eyes closed. The face that he had inexplicably feared, held no contempt this time. And Harry didn't shudder, as he had so many times in the past few days. This face wasn't the face of his enemy. He wasn't the cause of the vague impression of being driven out of his safety. For a brief instant, as Harry stared at the burned features, this face belonged to the ranks of comrade. Snape had been on their side, at least briefly, and he too had been tortured by Voldemort.

Not having to pause this time, Harry began applying the salve to Snape's face. Once he'd finished, Harry capped the jar and set it carefully on Snape's desk. Pulling his wand out of his back pocket, he aimed it at Snape, and chanted the same spell he used to activate the magical properties in various potions, just as Pomfrey had directed. The air sizzled around Snape's body and then the salve seemed to thin and spread, creating a thin, protective shield over Snape's body.

Harry sighed in relief, and slid his wand back into his pocket. It worked. Remembering Dodgy's words about keeping Snape warm, Harry unfolded the quilt at the end of the bed and draped it hastily over Snape. And then, almost without thought, Harry grabbed Snape's chair and scooted it close to the bed. Harry plopped wearily onto the hard seat. And then he simply sat there, watching the shallow, labored rise and fall of Snape's chest.

--

"Harry?"

Harry jerked awake at the frantic, high-pitched call. He looked around dazedly as he tried to get his bearings. He remembered where he was, just as he realized that it was Sirius calling his name; he sounded terrified. Harry scrambled up from his chair. Sirius was sitting up in bed, wild-eyed. As soon as he caught sight of Harry across the corridor, his eyes closed and he slumped with relief. He grimaced in pain at the sudden movement. Harry hurried back into the other room.

"Sirius? Are you all right?"

Sirius opened his eyes as Harry sat down on the bed. He grasped Harry's arms and pulled Harry toward him; he seemed to be trying to make sure that Harry was actually there. "Are _you_ all right?" he asked urgently. Harry nodded quickly. "What's going on?"

Harry gestured with his hand toward Snape's room; his arms were still trapped in Sirius' fingers. "Snape suddenly appeared on his bed. He was burned…pretty badly." Sirius' eyes widened in horror; his grip tightened on Harry's arms.

"Burned?" he echoed, his voice rising an octave once again. Harry swallowed painfully as he nodded. The images of Snape's charred body swam in front of his vision.

"Dodgy got some potions from Pomfrey to heal the burns—and something for his heart. He's still unconscious." He didn't like the way his voice wavered through the lengthy explanation, anymore than he had last night. This time though, he didn't think it was because of fear.

Sirius twisted slightly, though he kept his hands on Harry's arms. His eyes narrowed; he stared across the corridor for a long time. He took a breath and turned back to Harry. His features were grim. "You saw him up close."

Harry nodded shakily. "I put Pomfrey's Burn Salve on him. Dodgy had to go back to Hogwarts." _Odd that Dodgy hadn't come back yet_, some part of Harry's brain tried to tell him.

"You should have woken me," Sirius said quietly. "You shouldn't have had to do that alone."

Harry shrugged, though he didn't feel nonchalant about it in the least. "I didn't think I should wake you. You couldn't even stand last night."

"I think I had a few broken ribs…though I have a suspicion that Snape healed them before he brought me here last night." Sirius' voice was introspective as he spoke, but he stopped speaking abruptly and narrowed his eyes again as he studied Harry. His face was suddenly grim. "Did he hurt you?"

Harry stilled under his godfather's gaze. He closed his eyes as he answered, "I can't remember."

"What do you mean you can't remember?" Even though Harry knew the sharp edge to Sirius' voice was meant for Snape, Harry flinched anyway. Sirius' hands moved to Harry's shoulders. "What _can_ you remember?" His voice was gentler and Harry opened his eyes.

"He didn't hurt me…not physically, but every time he came too close…" Harry felt ill, remembering the way Snape had advanced on him. Sirius squeezed his shoulders reassuringly. "I—I just can't explain it, but I was terrified of him. I was so sure he was going to hurt me."

Sirius considered Harry's explanation, understanding beginning to dawn over his face. "You said he brought you out of the Crucio. Do you remember any of that?"

Harry shook his head though. "Only vaguely. I remember the pain, and then seeing Snape when the pain ended."

"Remember how I told you that you created a barrier each time you enter a Cruciatus cycle?" Harry nodded. "Dumbledore said you fought both him and Snape when they tried to reach you behind that barrier. They said you were frightened—and angry. Dumbledore wouldn't allow Snape to break the barrier alone. He said it would hurt you if you didn't want him there."

Harry shivered again as vague memories formed in his mind—of Snape shouting at him to get out, of Snape tearing at him, forcing him to do things he didn't want to. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the images he couldn't really remember; they were too distorted. "I didn't want to leave and I had to stop him…or else he would have killed me…I couldn't let him-" Harry gasped a little, trying to get enough oxygen into his lungs so he would stop feeling like he was drowning.

Sirius tugged his shoulders and drew Harry firmly into his arms. Harry trembled against his godfather's chest; Sirius simply tightened his hold. "It's all right, Harry. Of course it frightened you," he soothed.

"But he never even-"

Sirius' fingers squeezed against the back of Harry's neck. "You thought you were safe behind your barricade and Snape's attempts to draw you out would have seemed he was attacking you. You were probably fighting him—just like you'd fight anyone who was trying to hurt you over and over again. That's why Dumbledore didn't allow it. That's why he called me—because you trusted me."

Harry's anxious breaths slowed as he listened to Sirius' soft, slow voice. But he was still ashamed, even more so with Sirius' explanation. How could he have been frightened of nothing more than Snape entering his mind? So frightened that Sirius' arms holding him meant much more than it should. He could feel his face heating with his humiliation.

"Harry," Sirius said as he pulled his godson away from his chest so that he could look directly into his green eyes, "for all purposes, Snape _was_ attacking you. He _had_ to, to make you leave your barrier. If you had been trapped for too long, your mind might have been lost." He gave Harry a very serious look. "Do you understand that?" Before Harry had a chance to respond, Sirius said firmly, "You have absolutely no reason to feel ashamed. You had _every_ reason to be frightened of your attacker."

_Attacker._ Harry would have shuddered if Sirius hadn't had his arms securely around him. He nodded, though he was still certain he'd overreacted to Snape—to _everything_. "If you understood that, why did you try to kill Snape last night?" The question should have been funny, but there was absolutely no humor in either one of their faces.

"My mind was a bit fuzzy. And my brain is rather trained to think the worst of Snape," Sirius admitted with a grimace. "You were so upset, and the thought that Snape might have hurt you was too much…I wasn't thinking straight." He gave Harry a sudden, pointed look. "That'll happen when you haven't eaten for days."

Harry frowned. "I wasn't hungry." He couldn't really remember the last time he'd been hungry.

Sirius nodded. "I can understand that. I wasn't very hungry either." He smiled warmly at his godson. "I'm sure we can get both of us feeling back to normal now." Harry smiled a little at the slight question. At least Sirius hadn't threatened to shove food forcibly down his throat.

Both of their smiles faded though as Harry's eyes strayed involuntarily back to Snape.

"Did he really stop Voldemort from torturing you?"

Sirius followed Harry's gaze. "Bellatrix…but yes."

Harry swallowed through the lump in his throat. "But why would he do that?"

Sirius was silent for a long minute. "I don't know."

--

**TBC...**

**Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay in posting...caught a nasty case of writer's block. Thanks to JadeSullivan for her help with this chapter.**


	11. Flowing

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings belong to J.K. Rowling**

**Chapter 11: Flowing**

Even as Severus dragged his eyes open, he hoped he was dead. There could be nothing good to come from this weightless feeling, this numbness that was enslaving his limbs. And the bespectacled green eyes peering at him confirmed it.

_Potter_.

"Professor?"

It wasn't an apparition then. The eyes did belong to Potter, though they looked much too concerned for Potter's face to be the one attached to them. Perhaps he was in hell then. To stare at Lily's warm eyes, only to find them constantly invaded by that black, unmistakably Potter hair. To constantly remind of what he was never allowed to have. Surely, the fates would not be so cruel, not even to Severus Snape.

"Professor?"

Severus was certain that he had already told the gangly brat to get out, and to do so immediately, but apparently Potter preferred to play some sort of dangerous game—risking his professor's ire. Severus didn't like games, most especially when he was lying flat on his back, staring into eyes that he held such pity.

"I…I'm sorry, sir, but I can't understand you." Severus imagined that he could feel his arms lifting to place them in a rather pleasant stranglehold around Potter's neck. But Potter continued to speak, his voice jarring Severus even further into anger. "You were burned sir…Vol—You Know Who…well I think it was…"

Why was Potter speaking in such an infuriating manner? Severus glared at him. What sort of game was Potter playing with him now—trying to make him guess the missing words? He loathed games. He snarled as much, but Potter took no heed.

"…Dodgy never came back though…Sirius…thank you, sir."

Severus stared at those green eyes, immediately suspicious. What the _hell_ was Potter thanking him for? Something to do with that mutt? And what did he mean the house elf had not come back? From where?

"…I need to put some more…Pomfrey gave Dodgy instructions…sorry, sir."

Severus tried to jerk away.

Something was touching him. And it felt alarmingly like Potter's hand. It was warm to the touch; something soothing was enfolding his skin, which felt like a thousand needles had been jammed in at the same moment, but the relief was of little importance. Severus had to get away. He barked at Potter to cease immediately, under the threat of the vilest of tortures, but the hand didn't leave.

"…sorry…" The murmured words, full of embarrassment, and remorse jarred Severus' sanity. Why couldn't he move? _Push Potter's hand away_. His limbs would not obey.

A strange, unnatural fury began to take Severus over as the truth of what was happening revealed itself. The Dark Lord had set him ablaze—and he had nearly died. And now…now _Potter_ was nursing him back to health. Severus wondered if his body would allow him to expel the bile that was coursing up through his esophagus.

The harsh words that Severus directed toward Potter were of no use. The miserable brat's ministrations did not stop. Potter's hand was still touching him. And then with a sickening jolt, Severus realized that perhaps it was Black who was touching him, and in a moment of vivid confusion, he couldn't decide which would be worse. And then everything went dark again.

--

Harry paused in his rhythmic scoop and glop motions. Had Snape just murmured Sirius' name? Harry studied his professor for only a second before he shook his head dismissively and went back to his task. What a daft thought! Snape, if had been thinking of Sirius, certainly wouldn't be whispering his name…cursing it would be more likely.

Harry, as he had for the past two days, stared fixedly at the back of his hand, and hoped that Snape wouldn't wake up again. He had wanted to stop slathering on the salve as soon as Snape had stirred, but in a rather rushed decision, he began putting it on even faster, hoping maybe Snape wouldn't notice before he drifted back to sleep.

He'd been drifting since early this morning.

And still, Snape seemed completely unaware of what was happening. At least, his mumbled speech didn't tell Harry anything except that the Potions master was not really fully conscious. It was better that way; Harry wasn't ready to talk to him yet—at least not when Snape could talk back.

With a sigh of relief, Harry twisted the cap back on the jar, and set it down gently on the table. He activated the salve with his wand, and then draped the blanket back over Snape's protected body. He sank into the empty chair as he always did, his eyes straying upward as he heard Sirius' soft footsteps padding slowly down the corridor.

He smiled as soon as Sirius came into view, with a rather heavy-looking tray of food. With a stray look at Snape, Harry got up and went to unload his godfather of his burden, with a murmured, "Here…"

Sirius shook his head and gestured with his head for Harry to go on into the bedroom. Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Sirius only smiled. "I'm not an invalid, Harry. I'm feeling perfectly well."

Harry gave him a skeptical look; he was certainly hunched over like an _invalid_. "You can't even walk properly," he pointed out, trying to be helpful.

Sirius gave him a squinty, one-eyed look, which was probably meant to be disapproving of Harry's cheek, but it only made Harry smile. "Go on," Sirius ordered with a quiet chuckle.

Harry, still smiling, turned and went into the other room, with Sirius hobbling along behind him. Before Sirius even had a chance to protest, Harry took the tray and set it on the little table beside the bed.

"Thanks." Sirius settled himself on the bed, wincing a little as his body adjusted to the new position. Harry watched him, his eyebrows puckering with concern.

And he silently scolded himself for not ordering Dodgy to bring back potions for Sirius when he'd sent him away the first time. Sirius' bruises hadn't even begun to fade; not even a little. Sirius had explained that since most of them were magically inflicted, they had done a lot more damage than a simple fist or foot would have done.

"I'm recovering Harry," Sirius interrupted his thoughts. "There really isn't any need for you to fret." He shifted back a bit on the rumpled covers as though to prove his point, but Harry didn't miss the almost undetectable grimace on his godfather's face.

Harry picked up a sandwich half and handed it over to Sirius. He plucked another off the tray and sat cross-legged on the bed, leaning forward just slightly. "You should stay in bed." He ignored the constriction in his throat. "They hurt you for days…I can do whatever needs to be done around here."

"Harry, you're already taking care of Snape, since the salve has attached itself to your magical signature. You don't need to take care of me as well." When Harry frowned, Sirius assured him gently, "If I need your help, I promise I'll ask all right?'

Harry nodded through his sigh. Sirius gave his sandwich a pointed look but truthfully, Harry hadn't needed much encouragement over the last twenty-four hours. Sirius' careful explanations had helped him a great deal. The quietly overwhelming feeling of fear that had pushed against him ever since he'd woken up in this shack had dissipated—for the most part. Being near Snape still made him vaguely anxious, but at least he understood the feeling now.

The fear was no longer a phantom, chasing after him, to thrust him into shadowed corners.

Snape had forced him to leave the odd, inexplicable safety he'd cocooned himself in. He had been trying to help, Harry finally realized, but even with that acknowledgment, Harry could not quite get over the resentment he felt toward his professor. Snape hadn't needed to be so harsh; Sirius would never have hurt him like that. But Snape didn't care about hurting him—Harry had realized that many detentions ago. And Harry would simply have to accept it, especially as he fully understood that the man had saved Sirius' life.

Harry cringed when he heard Sirius gasp as he turned to face Harry; he had moved his upper body too much and his tender ribs, predictably, had protested. Harry swallowed the bit of sandwich in his mouth and took Sirius' elbow until he had straightened himself out; Sirius' breathing sounded labored again.

"Shouldn't Snape have some Potions here somewhere? He's a Potions professor."

"He probably does," Sirius told him, sounding less strained now. "In a warded cupboard, most likely."

Harry made a face. "No one even lives here. Who would break into his supplies?" he asked with a little shake of his head. Snape was definitely paranoid.

But Sirius seemed to be considering the question. "I don't know how he, or even Albus, I suppose, used this place. It's possible others may have stayed here."

Harry polished off the rest of his sandwich. "Dodgy said something about Dumbledore's magic not allowing anyone else in here…that can't be a Fidelius Charm, right? I wasn't even awake when Snape brought me here."

Sirius smiled as Harry took another sandwich, but then his eyes crinkled as he thought about what Harry had said. "I don't know of another charm, or a spell which would allow only certain people in." He smiled ruefully. "But then Dumbledore is a much more powerful wizard, _and_ a more knowledgeable one." He shrugged, even as his eyes took on a decidedly sorrowful hue.

"I wish we knew what happened to Dodgy," Harry said, worried as well about the Headmaster and Hogwarts. He'd made the same lament at least half a dozen times since yesterday. And since the only way would be for Sirius to leave to find out, they'd reluctantly resigned themselves to the situation, though that didn't stop Harry from vocalizing his worry.

"Dumbledore will contact us when he's able," Sirius assured him. Harry nodded, knowing Sirius was right, but understanding as well that Dodgy not returning was a very good indication that things were not going well outside the shack. Sirius squeezed his knee lightly. "Why don't you take a nap?" he suggested. "You didn't sleep well last night."

Harry used his hands to slide himself back against the wall, until his shoulder was almost touching Sirius'; his godfather looked like he was about to topple over himself. "I slept all right. I didn't dream or anything."

Sirius gave him an odd look. "You dreamt all night. You were thrashing a few times, and you were talking."

Harry stared at his godfather. "I did? What did I say?"

"Muttering mostly," Sirius answered with a frown. "You called out for me a few times…while we were thrashing."

Harry's cheeks grew warm, and he looked away. He didn't turn his head back around when Sirius shifted closer until he could feel the weight of his godfather's shoulder against his own.

"You also said something about _Fluffy_…" Harry glanced at him then; Sirius' forehead was bunched up dramatically as he tried to remember what Harry had said. "I'm not really sure Fluffy fits…and beside I prefer Snuffles…"

Harry's lips twitched. He nudged his godfather playfully. Sirius, his eyes bright with mirth, returned the favor.

"Fluffy's a three-headed dog. Hagrid's," Harry explained on a bit of a huff. Sirius sniffed.

"I only have _one_ head, Harry," he chided. Harry snorted out a breath of laughter, and Sirius' face relaxed into a smile.

Harry had no idea why he would have been dreaming about Fluffy, nor could he remember any other aspects of his dreams. But he supposed it didn't really matter, not even that he'd apparently been crying out for Sirius. Sirius was here. They were together. And they were safe.

--

The scooping and glopping didn't get any easier. Not even a little bit. Even though, each time, Harry worked as quickly as he could; he had no desire to have another one-sided conversation with Snape. So the motions remained steady and swift. Harry wouldn't even have noticed the burns were healing if Sirius hadn't pointed it out after Harry had taken his prescribed nap yesterday afternoon.

"Around the edges…and there isn't any more oozing," Sirius had elaborated when Harry hadn't been willing to look away from the back of his own hand. "The salve is working wonderfully."

Harry had simply nodded and returned to his task. And here he was again, doing exactly the same thing, though this time, Sirius was across the corridor. Harry had managed to get away without waking him this morning; he needed to sleep.

"Get away from me." The rasped words immediately halted Harry's motions, with his hand in the middle of smearing on a generous glob of salve. Harry could feel his fingers trembling; he pulled them quickly away from Snape's stomach. He held his salve-coated hand awkwardly in the air.

"You…you were burned."

Snape's face didn't move, save his eyes; they were filled with anger. And then his lips were moving again, and instinctively Harry bent down to hear him. "Out!" The one, furious word had Harry shooting up again. It hadn't been loud, but it resonated in Harry's ears, making him remember shadowed pain—the fear of being taken away from his safety.

He pushed all of it away. Snape had been trying to help him. He had saved Sirius.

It became a silent mantra.

"I have to…finish putting the Burn Salve on," Harry told him quietly, pleased that his voice didn't shake. Snape's lips moved again, and Harry didn't need to get any closer to see that Snape was not in agreement with his plan. "I'm sorry, sir," Harry said sincerely, just as sorry for himself as he was for Snape.

Harry moved more swiftly over the remainder of Snape's recovering skin; he could feel Snape's black eyes watching him. It made his skin crawl. But he kept at it, the mantra keeping him afloat. Snape's intermittent muttered comments, none of which he could hear clearly, sped up his progress.

As soon as Snape's last toe was covered in salve, Harry hastily set the jar aside. He fumbled a little with his wand, but managed to chant the spell over Snape. He glanced at Snape, feeling embarrassment creeping up into his cheeks, though he wasn't certain why. After all, he wasn't the one who was lying in bed, completely helpless.

"I'll have to put the blanket on you now, Professor…to keep you warm," he mumbled, turning his eyes away from Snape again as he settled the warm cover over him. "Are you…are you thirsty sir?" Dodgy had told him that Snape would need liquids.

Snape opened his lips; they were dry and cracked in a few places, but the salve had worked the fastest on Snape's face. He was recognizable again at least. And Harry could see that Snape was trying to deny his need for water. He sighed.

"I'll go get you some water," he said. He hurried out into the corridor before Snape could say anything else.

--

Severus watched Potter turn away but could see no more than that. He listened to the rapid footstep fading away, his feeling of helplessness fueling his fury. How long had he been lying here? With Potter, _Potter_ of all people, as his nursemaid. He wanted nothing more than to take Potter by his scrawny shoulders and toss him into the corridor—who had even let the brat out of his room? Black, obviously. Of course _he_ would be imbecilic enough to trust that Potter wouldn't attempt anything foolish. Even though Potter had admitted to hatching some sort of scheme involving a rescue mission to London…

Severus grit his teeth, one of the few movements he could manage, and prepared to order Potter to leave him alone, but this time he would be certain that Potter obeyed. For once.

Potter's footsteps, hesitant now, shuffled against the old floorboards. And then the whelp was staring down at him, a glass of water in his hand. "You can't sit up, sir…Dodgy said the salve restricts your movements…"

Severus snarled derisively at the stupid boy. Did he really believe that he, a Potions master, did not understand the properties of a Burn Salve? The smell was overwhelming his senses. Potter shifted uncomfortably. Severus attempted a sneer, but he doubted it came to fruition.

"What are you waiting for?" Severus snapped; the words were barely a scratchy whisper, making Severus' temper rise. He would never get rid of Potter with such a timid display. But Potter nodded immediately and brought the cup's straw to Severus' lips. Severus, surprised at his own thirst, sipped greedily at the cool water; it felt wonderful against his throat.

"I…I don't think you should drink too much at once…"

Severus glared at him as the straw was withdrawn. His throat felt like sand. "Are you a Mediwizard now?" The subdued question didn't even make Potter flinch.

"Too much might make you sick…" At least Potter hadn't gained an air of superiority; he seemed nervous. Severus hoped his eyes were narrowed at the boy now.

"Are you finished, Potter?"

Potter winced that time. He nodded jerkily. "I'll come back later…to put more salve on-"

"Get…out."

The deliberate words were suitably harsh, and Potter flinched again. Severus could hear the water sloshing over the rim of the glass as Potter set it down sloppily, and then the green eyes stopped taunting him. Severus was left mercifully alone again.

--

Harry slid his back down the wall, his bum coming to a rest on the floor next to the table in his room, unwilling to disturb Sirius. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the cold, black glare that insisted on pestering him. He didn't care that Snape hated him, and he certainly wasn't surprised that the professor didn't want his help. Harry hadn't wanted Snape's help either when he'd been suffering through the Cruciatus.

"A floor isn't generally the best place for a nap."

Harry opened his eyes. Sirius was sitting up on the bed, peering at him with concerned eyes, belying the half-smile on his face.

"I didn't want to wake you."

"I wouldn't have minded," Sirius told him, the words filled with warm sincerity. He pushed himself from the bed; the almost inaudible groan that escaped through his lips had Harry scrambling to his feet. Sirius grimaced and re-settled himself on the bed.

"Are you all right, Sirius?" Harry asked anxiously. Sirius nodded.

"Moved too quickly," he explained. He turned his head to examine Harry. "What happened?" he asked gently, knowing without having to be told that something was bothering his godson. Harry shrugged. Sirius angled his head so that he was gazing into Harry's worried eyes. "I'm here, Harry."

Harry swallowed, wondering at the sudden emotion the innocuous statement brought to his chest. "Snape woke up again." Sirius tensed.

"Harry, you should have woken me. You don't need to be in there alone."

"You need to-"

But Sirius shook his head, his gray eyes intense. "I am doing just fine, Harry. I told you that already. There isn't any reason for you to care for Snape by yourself, especially after what happened between you two." When Harry looked away, Sirius put his hand on his godson's shoulders. "Hey," he coaxed softly, nudging Harry's neck with his fingers; Harry met his eyes again. "I don't want you to go in there by yourself anymore…all right?"

The slight pressure against his shoulders made Harry feel warm inside; he nodded, wanting to whisk the worry from Sirius' eyes. "Yeah, all right," he agreed quietly. It was hardly a concession, after all, since he really didn't enjoy standing there alone, with Snape's heartless eyes boring into him.

Sirius' fingers squeezed the back of Harry's neck, sealing their pact. "Let's go find some breakfast, shall we?" he asked lightly.

"Only if you'll let me help you," Harry told him, in a mock-stern voice. Sirius chuckled.

"It's a deal."

Harry smiled and slung an arm around Sirius' waist. Sirius leaned into the half-embrace and allowed Harry to help him.

--

TBC...

**A/N: Thanks so much to JadeSullivan for her awesome help and sheer excitement for this story. As I've said before, this portrayal of Sirius is based on Sirius in her story, Starting from Scratch. A brilliant depiction. Go read it.**


	12. Slowly

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings belong to J.K. Rowling**

**A/N: I apologize for the slow update. My grandmother passed away, and I've been out of town and unfortunately, not in the mood to write. Thanks for your patience. **

**Chapter 12: Slowly**

"He was watching me with that?" Harry was squinting at the clear bauble on Snape's desk, where they had paused on their way in to douse Snape with the Burn Salve.

Sirius glanced at the sleeping Potions master . "Snape's been a spy for years. I don't think he realizes that there are other ways to check on people."

Harry frowned. "It's probably better that he didn't come in more often…whenever he did…" He shrugged, not wanting to explain that he'd endured a Crucio more than once when Snape had entered the room across the corridor. Sirius immediately lowered his eyebrows.

He asked quietly, "You went through a Crucio whenever he came into your room?"

"Not as soon as he came in," Harry clarified, feeling stupid, but Sirius' eyes held no judgment.

"What were you doing when it happened?"

Harry shifted, glancing back toward the room that he and Sirius now shared. "Arguing with Snape…shouting at him mostly."

Sirius immediately narrowed his grey eyes; they flicked to Snape, and then back again to his godson. "And was he shouting back at you, then?" he asked, his voice sounding strained.

"Some…mostly he just threatened to shove food down my throat or hex me-" Harry stopped speaking abruptly at the look of anger that passed over Sirius' face. "He didn't actually do any of those things," he said quickly. Sirius shook his head, but he didn't comment, and Harry knew it was difficult for him to keep silent.

They moved together to Snape's side; he was still asleep. He'd been quite irascible when he had woken up this morning, to find both Harry and Sirius at his bedside, and Harry was certain Snape had muttered something about the Dark Lord's fire not doing its job. When Sirius had asked the Potions master if he could get him some water, Snape had snarled at him, that yes, he certainly should go find some water, and then, if he wished to do Snape a favor, he would drown himself in it.

Sirius had backed off at that point, muttering under his own breath about thankless gits with too-large noses. Harry had continued slathering the burn salve throughout the exchange, wincing only once when Snape snapped at him to hurry up. Sirius and Harry had left as soon as Harry had given Snape his water.

"Maybe you should stay out of his line of vision this time," Harry suggested to his godfather. Sirius frowned at that, but nodded and sat in the chair that Harry usually sat in after he'd finished his glopping. "How much longer do you suppose he'll need the salve?" Harry asked as he absently twisted the lid of Pomfrey's jar.

Sirius narrowed his eyes to study the slowly scabbing boils all over Snape's chest, careful not to jolt his ribs by leaning forward. "I'm not certain," he admitted regretfully. "They look to be healing quite well, and most of them have already begun the scarring process, which means the salve has done its job."

"Once they're all closed over then?" Harry asked, willing his eyes not to stray to the large patches across Snape's chest that were still oozing a little. Sirius tilted his head forward, studying the burns as closely as he could without actually coming close enough for Snape to see him should he wake up suddenly. He nodded.

"That should be right. He'll have scars, of course, without a salve to counter them, but I don't see that there's anything to be done about that." Odd, the way Sirius sounded like he might actually feel badly for Snape about that.

"Maybe he has something here," Harry suggested, looking over his shoulder at a large bureau where Harry had begun to suspect Snape kept his potions.

"I doubt it," Sirius told him, still sounding sorry for Snape. Harry sighed a little. No help for it, he supposed. Squaring his shoulders, he uncapped the jar and began the methodical motions, starting with Snape's left shoulder, and working his way down. His eyes were drawn to Snape's Mark, even though he didn't mean to allow them to stray from where they'd been locked on the back of his own hand. But the Mark seemed darker than it had before…and the snake…it was moving.

A hand clamped viciously over his, and Harry jumped. The jar of salve was sent flying through the air to come to a splattering halt against the floor near Harry's feet.

"Get away from me," Snape whispered fiercely. Harry gasped as his professor's fingernails dug into his skin. Sirius struggled to his feet as quickly as he could, hissing sharply in pain as he stood up.

"Let go of him," he rasped, his breaths heavy and ragged. Snape ignored him, but his partially restored strength was no match for even Sirius' diminished state, or perhaps it was simply Sirius' protectiveness that won out over Snape's fury. Sirius wrapped his strong fingers around Snape's right wrist and wrenched his hand away from Harry's; Harry winced as Snape's fingers clawed across his flesh.

Snape made no sound to indicate that the abrupt motion caused him pain, though his lips did twist in a momentary grimace. Sirius flung Snape's hand away immediately and it flopped onto Snape's chest with a solid thwap. Snape sucked in a harsh breath at that; his hand had smacked up against one of the oozing patches.

Sirius took hold of Harry's shoulder, rather roughly from Harry's point of view, and was tugged well out of Snape's reach. Sirius leaned down over Snape, ignoring the gasp of pain the movement caused. "Unless you'd like to experience the infections you'll undoubtedly endure without any more of Poppy's salve, you'll not lay a finger on my godson again." The snarl in the threat made Harry shiver.

Snape didn't even flinch. "And when I die from the infection, who will release your godson from his next Crucio attack?" he asked with a curled lip.

Sirius' sneer nearly matched Snape's. "He hasn't had even one since you've been incapacitated. Interesting, that…wouldn't you say?"

Snape's lips clamped tightly together, and the two men silently glared at each other.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked slowly, looking between them. Snape's lips paled suspiciously. "You caused them?" Harry demanded as he stepped forward again.

"I didn't cause them," Snape scathed, the effectiveness very nearly lost with the tremor in his voice.

Harry drew in a breath through his nose, too shocked to do anything else. Snape had done that to him? "But how did you…how could you…?"

"How could I _what_, Potter? How could I do that to you? To _you_, the _famous_ Harry Potter?" Snape's voice momentarily regained its vigor as he spat the words. His black eyes were alight now; obviously invigorated by his own hatred.

But Harry shook his head. "That's not what I meant," he snapped, feeling slightly relieved as Sirius moved away from Snape. "How did you trigger the Crucios? Umbridge cast the original curse."

Snape's eyes had gone dull with exhaustion once more…the loathing took entirely too much energy to maintain. But he still managed to sneer in a voice just above a whisper, "Because you're a coward, Potter."

It wasn't an answer at all, and Harry wasn't particularly offended by the oft-repeated insult, but Sirius stiffened in indignation. "Harry's not a coward. Anyone else would have broken after the first few-"

"Shut up, mutt." The words, unaccompanied by a snarl, startled Sirius into actually obeying. Snape's eyes were closed again, though it was clear he wasn't sleeping; his fingers were wound around his slowly pulsing Mark. "Get out…and take your brave little Gryffindor with you."

Sirius stared at the hand that was hiding Voldemort's Mark. But finally he nodded, looking smaller somehow. He turned to Harry. "Come on, Harry," he said quietly.

"I have to finish the salve."

Snape's eyes snapped open.

"No. Leave."

Harry shook his head, ignoring the slight queasy fluttering in his stomach. He had heard that tone in Snape's voice many times; it had only been in the past few days that it had disturbed him so much. He was used to Snape's scathing, he told himself firmly. "The burns aren't fully healed over-"

Snape's fingers dug into his left forearm. "I don't care." His voice had gone back to being scratchy and feeble.

"There's a chance of infection," Harry told him, only repeating what Dodgy had told him.

"The risk is mine to take. Now…get…out." Snape was practically panting by now.

But Harry wasn't going to get out. He didn't care how much Snape was going to hiss at him. And actually he looked like he was trying to sit up. Harry took a worried step toward the bed, forgetting to be nervous, but before he could reach Snape's side, Snape had stopped his useless struggle, his shoulders settling heavily down again. His eyelids fluttered closed.

"He wouldn't have stopped complaining otherwise."

Harry turned to see Sirius rolling Snape's wand between thumb and forefinger with a smile. "Sleeping Spell?"

Sirius nodded. "Wouldn't have been very sporting to crack him upside the head…since he spared me the same courtesy in Voldemort's little dungeon." But Sirius was frowning; the expression didn't go along at all with his light tone. He stepped toward Harry, catching Harry's injured hand in his fingers.

"It's all right," Harry told him, tugging at little as he reached down to scoop up the jar of salve with his other hand. Sirius tugged right back, and used his free hand to pluck the salve deftly from Harry's fingers.

"That can wait a moment," he said firmly, his eyes riveted to the four long gouges in Harry's skin. "Doesn't do anything by halves, does he?" he muttered. Harry was almost certain he heard a mumbled, 'bastard' in there as well, but Sirius began chanting a spell in the same breath as he waved Snape's wand over the remnants of the other man's tantrum. Harry watched in fascination as a cleansing spell washed over the scratches and then, the wounds were neatly covered by a square plaster.

"Neat," Harry remarked with enthusiasm. Sirius smiled at him as he pocketed Snape's wand. "You're taking his wand?"

Sirius shrugged. "I don't think I can trust him not to hex you when you next insist on tending to him." He gave his godson a look that made Harry smile, though it was every bit stern. "Not that you're going to be in here without me."

Harry shook his head in agreement. He glanced down at his newly dressed hand before asking quietly, "Snape scared me into all the Crucios…is that what he meant?" The thought was utterly humiliating, and the feeling of shame heightened as he looked into his godfather's yecaring eyes.

Sirius seemed to be choosing his words very carefully as he studied Harry's face. "I think it is probably fear that triggers the cycles." He shook his head as Harry began silently berating himself for actually being the coward that Snape had accused him of being. "You are not a coward," Sirius said firmly. "That spell was designed to make you feel so much fear that you actually retreated into your mind, Harry. Snape attacked you. And each time he did, you feared him more and more, as anyone would."

Harry was disinclined to let those facts alleviate his humiliation. Of course he understood what Sirius was saying to him. And he had already accepted that he had come to view Snape as a vicious assailant during those times. But it made it no easier to accept that it was only fear—of Snape, no less—which brought on each new round of Crucio. He shook his head in disgust.

"Snape must have loved that," he said bitterly.

"His initial response was, no doubt, glee that he could produce such a reaction in James' son," Sirius agreed, looking irritated at the notion. "But even I can't claim that Snape would have enjoyed it for long. Even if he didn't contribute to my torture, out of loyalty to Dumbledore…he didn't have to take it quite as far as he did." His eyes strayed to stare, mystified, at his enemy, but then his face hardened. "But if he touches you again-" He shook his head, too agitated at the thought to finish the threat.

"We can't actually let him die of infection, you know," Harry said lightly, smiling at his godfather.

"I know a few curses that would have him begging for infection," Sirius said with scowl in Snape's direction. But he shook his head resignedly as he turned back to Harry. "I owe him twice now, damn him."

Harry tilted his head to the side as he pondered that statement. Sirius smiled at him. He reached out and nudged Harry's chin gently with his knuckles. "For you."

Harry grinned, unable to still the warmth that spread through his chest. "I owe him as well, then," he said seriously.

"Mmm," Sirius murmured, his lips twitching against another smile, "then I suppose I'll let you continue to treat his burns." He held out the jar of salve. "Rather sneaky of him to force both of us into his debt. But then, that's a Slytherin for you." The last words were quieter now, and Sirius' face had paled a little.

"Sit down, Sirius, before you fall over," Harry suggested as he took the salve. The jesting mood had evaporated…Sirius' forehead was beginning to glisten with perspiration. He wanted to tell Sirius to go lie down, but since the argument from his godfather would just cause him to lose more of his already-sapped energy, Harry said nothing else.

"Right," Sirius agreed. Grasping the arms of Snape's chair, he lowered himself slowly into the seat. He sighed. "Next time that git wakes up, I'm going to ask him if he knows any healing spells."

Harry was watching his movements carefully. "Is it getting worse?"

Sirius waved his hand casually. "It's tolerable." Harry wasn't fooled. He sighed to himself, wishing Pomfrey were here.

"We'll ask Snape if he has any healing potions as well," Harry decided as he continued his glopping; it got easier all the time.

"Better not tell him they're for me," Sirius said with a wry twist of his lip, and Harry silently agreed. After all, Snape had no burden of debt to force him to act with even a semblance of compassion toward either of them. And unfortunately, Harry didn't know if he had enough Slytherin in him to get any help from Snape without it.

--

The next time Snape woke up, Sirius was dozing lightly in Snape's chair and Harry had just finished settling the blanket over Snape after applying the latest round of salve. Snape's lips immediately set themselves into a furious scowl; Harry stepped back, and after he did, he wondered how much of that had been instinct, and how much had been fear.

"Give me my wand." Snape wasted no time in issuing the heavy command.

"Er…Dodgy said you shouldn't do any magic until you're completely healed." Harry could hardly say that Snape's wand was safely tucked in Sirius' pocket, after all. Unfortunately, Snape seemed to know a little more about healing protocol than Harry did.

"Liar," he breathed, though there was very little anger behind the claim. And then Harry had to wonder if Snape was actually referring to Dodgy. "My wand," he ordered again, sounding slightly breathless with impatience.

"I can't…"

Snape's eyes found his, and it seemed he hadn't lost his well-developed talent for glaring. "Can't?" he echoed ominously, if rather quietly. Harry shrugged.

"Sirius is keeping it for you." Snape couldn't do much about it, he supposed. Snape glowered at him.

"Give me my wand." He was struggling to sit up again.

"If you're planning to hex me, I should tell you that I have my wand." Harry was fingering it by now, ready to pull it from his back pocket if necessary. Snape's eyes widened by a millimeter, and he stilled his agitated movements.

"Are you threatening me?" Snape demanded, his voice still scratchy from disuse.

"If you're planning to use your wand to hex me, I am," Harry returned evenly.

"Don't be an idiot, Potter." Snape took a ragged, huffing breath as he shifted uncomfortably. "If I wanted to hex you, I would have done it before now."

Harry abruptly released his tightening grip on the handle of his wand, feeling foolish. He hoped Snape wouldn't notice the flush creeping over his cheeks. "Why do you want your wand?" he asked, hoping he sounded casual. Snape's lips pinched together and he looked away. Harry frowned. "Do you…er…need something…I can bring you more water."

"I don't need anything," Snape snapped at him. He was grimacing in obvious pain now.

Harry glanced over at Sirius, still breathing evenly as he slumped in Snape's chair; he thought fleetingly that Sirius would want to be woken up, but given that Sirius' last exchange with Snape hadn't gone very well, Harry decided not to. Besides, he needed the sleep.

"Erm…" Harry's feet shifted as he tried not to look at Snape, "…I can get you whatever you need…are you hungry…or if you need some pain potion…well, I don't have any but if you have some and you want me to get it-"

"Stop babbling, your imbecile," Snape interrupted fiercely; the effort seemed to cost him another unsteady breath. His scowl deepened. "The Burn Salve provides adequate pain relief." His fingers were fisting in agitation. Turning his eyes again from Harry, he said stiffly, "I need to perform an Elimination Spell."

"Oh!" Harry's cheeks flamed. Sirius had performed an Elimination Spell on Snape after Snape had returned from Voldemort…one that would continue until Snape's body was ready to function on its own. "I…you can use my wand." Snape still wasn't looking at him, and Harry, after he fumbled his wand into Snape's fingers, turned away. A stream of quiet curses, followed by the soft clatter of wood against stone had Harry turning around again.

Snape either couldn't aim properly, or he was simply having difficulty with his wrist flick; Harry felt a disturbing rush of sympathy for him. Snape had closed his eyes again. "Sirius can-"

"No."

The refusal was non-negotiable. Harry licked his lips nervously; he glanced toward Snape's loo. "Erm…do you want me to help you to the loo?" He wasn't certain it was work, since he didn't know if Snape would be steady enough.

"Unless you'd prefer me to soil myself right here, then yes," Snape said irritably, his black eyes flashing furiously back to Harry; he seemed much angrier than was necessary under the circumstances. Harry forced himself to simply nod, though his cheeks immediately began to burn again as he remembered that Snape was starkers under his blanket.

"You…you're not dressed…" he said awkwardly. Snape glared at him.

"Your powers of observation amaze me, Potter." The sarcasm flowed thickly, even through Snape's scratchy voice.

Harry's embarrassment turned quickly to anger. "Well, I didn't think you'd want me to…" The embarrassment returned.

"What Potter? See me _nude_?" he asked with narrowed eyes, and lips that were jeering at him. "You've seen me already. So, spare me the adolescent theatrics and help me up."

Harry almost balked. The bastard deserved to lie in his own putrid filth. It would serve him right. Except, Harry reminded himself with a silent grimace, he'd saved Sirius. And the way Snape was watching him, his lip curled derisively, it seemed Snape knew exactly what he was owed by one Harry Potter.

Gritting his teeth, Harry ignored the internal protesting at touching Snape without the gooey salve and helped the Potions master to sit up, carefully keeping his gaze on Snape's face. Maneuvering his arms to sling around Snape's ribs, Harry guided him upward. Snape, with a soft grunt, couldn't seem to help himself from slumping into Harry's side. Harry stumbled a little against the sudden weight, but he kept his arms steady around Snape, and with slow, torturous steps, the two of them made their way to the loo.

As soon as they reached the closed door, Snape gripped the edges of the doorway, pulling himself away from Harry with a heavy groan. His arms were quivering with the effort. Harry, not knowing what compelled him, said quietly, "I can help you the rest of the way."

"Leave." Snape's voice was trembling now too. Harry, feeling a sudden, horrible lump in his throat, could only nod. He would wait, of course, but there was no reason to tell Snape so. Harry stepped away from the broken man, allowing him to claim what little dignity he could.

--

TBC...


	13. Winding

**Warning: Graphic Violence**

Severus' entire body was trembling as he sank to his knees; the cold tile bit against his flesh. He tried desperately to steady his breathing, to force himself to find strength somewhere. But there was none.

His Mark was burning.

He had a potion to dull the pain in his cupboard, but he wasn't going to ask Potter to get it for him. He wasn't going to accept any more help from the wretched child—both he and Black were certainly gloating over his predicament. He didn't need their help. He would, however, need his wand.

Severus clenched his molars together, scraping the enamel until the sound seemed to explode in his ears.

"Professor?"

Severus, feeling a mild, unwelcome sense of panic, tried to rise from the floor. He hadn't the strength.

"I…er…found your dressing gown, sir."

The panic, followed quickly by anger, returned. The anger helped Severus grip the edge of the toilet. His arms trembled as he attempted to lever himself upward. It was no use.

The bathroom door cracked open.

Uncertain fingers, with a dark dressing gown attached, slipped through the crack. Before the fingers could reach past the wooden edge of the door frame, the slick fabric slipped from their slack grip. Potter's fingers made frantic, and useless, flailing motions toward the gown. The fabric fluttered silently to the tiled floor.

"Er…sorry…"

What exactly Potter's ultimate plan had been, Severus had no idea, but he was disinclined to respond to the pathetic apology. His dressing gown was within his reach now—barely, and Severus spent the next five excruciating minutes stretching his battered left arm toward the lifeline. The tips of his second and third finger finally made contact; he slithered the fabric slowly, painfully toward his body.

Severus cursed. His arms wouldn't lift themselves high enough to actually make the dressing gown terribly useful. His arms slumped beside his torso, and he had to force himself to turn the rest of his body around; each movement of his muscles was agonizing.

He could hear Potter's feet shuffling outside the door. "Get in here," Severus snapped. Even the short sentence made his lungs hitch with the effort. But at least he hadn't seemed to have lost his touch.

The door opened almost immediately, and Potter poked his head around the edge. He looked relieved as his eyes fell on Severus' half-covered state. It was unfortunate that Severus didn't have energy enough to sneer at Potter's immaturity, especially since he hadn't deliberately placed the dressing gown over his lap.

"I need my wand," Severus snapped, as well as he could through the gurgle that was now his voice. Potter paused, but then he shook his head—firmly.

"I told you, Professor…Sirius is asleep. I don't want to wake him up."

"Potter-" Severus began, hoping he had enough energy to effectively debase the boy, but Potter didn't allow him to continue.

"He's not doing very well, sir. He needs to sleep," Potter said firmly. He studied Severus, his green eyes hesitant. "I can help you."

Severus bared his teeth; it seemed to have lost its effectiveness; Potter didn't even flinch. Severus glared at him. "Your wand, then."

Severus watched with ill-concealed contempt as Potter's hand flew around to his backside; the muscles in his arm tensed as he gripped the wood protectively. But then Potter swallowed, and with a little nod, he slid it with a quiet swoosh from his pocket. He took the three steps toward Severus and silently handed over his only protection, just as he had a few minutes ago. It was utterly absurd, and Severus had an urge to tell Potter the he was an idiot to be so trusting.

But he didn't.

He simply took Potter's proffered wand and chanted the spell that forced his dressing gown, in a whirl of fabric, to take shape around his exposed body. He heard Potter heave a sigh of relief. And then he was moving to assist, and Severus had to stifle his own sigh of relief that he hadn't had to humiliate himself further by asking for Potter's help.

Potter wasted little time in re-pocketing his wand, for which even Severus couldn't fault him. Severus did, however, bestow the miserable boy with what he hoped was a vicious scowl. Potter sighed, but said nothing in response, and with extremely careful movements, Potter slid his arm under Severus' left armpit, and then hauled Severus' heavy right arm over his own right shoulder. "Are you ready sir?" he asked quietly. Severus meant to snarl, but it sounded more like a grunt. But Severus had no chance to be irritated by his softness; his muscles began screaming in protest as Potter hauled him to his feet.

"Damn it, Potter," he breathed before he could stop himself, the hiss escaping through gritted teeth. In response, Potter tugged Severus' wrist to drape more securely around his shoulder. His other hand gripped Severus' side firmly.

"Sorry," he muttered, sounding a bit breathless. Severus wanted to say something scathing, to tell the brat to be more careful, but the pain was much worse than it had been when they'd first come in the loo; it took all Severus' effort to keep up with Potter's measured strides.

Potter faltered before they reached the bed.

Dodgy, the nervous little house elf was standing in the entrance to Severus' room. He was trembling.

"Master Snape, sir!" Dodgy's voice was sharp and high, and wobbling as though someone was shaking him violently.

Out of the corner of his eye, Severus saw Black stirring at the screeched greeting.

"Harry?" Black queried blearily.

"I'm right here, Sirius," Harry answered automatically, glancing back at his godfather for a brief second before turning his attention fully back to the house elf. "Where have you been, Dodgy?" he asked, his tone filled with disgusting concern, but even Severus had been more than mildly curious about the house elf's whereabouts since he'd drifted back to consciousness.

Dodgy's eyes widened to the point of ridiculousness; his fingers came up to cover his mouth. "Harry Potter, sir…Dodgy is….Dodgy is…" His mouth was moving awkwardly, as though he was trying to speak, and something was physically restraining him. "Harry Potter must…" A shudder twisted through the little elf's frame; his face formed a horrified, slanted grimace of immense pain. He clutched at his middle, and Severus, as memory kicked him soundly in the skull, suddenly understood.

"Get away from him!" he ground out, his shout petering out to a growl. Potter shifted his head around to look at him, his eyes widening in alarm as he took in Severus' features. Severus tried to pivot away from Potter's grip, in a desperate attempt to move Potter out of the way, but the fool's only goal seemed to be to keep Severus standing. "Move!" Severus snapped.

"What? What's going on?" Black demanded as he came toward them, out of Severus' peripheral vision and into the space between Potter and the house elf.

Before Severus could say another word, the world exploded.

Severus could hear the ripping reverberations as the room tore itself to pieces…he could feel the pressure against his limbs, the flow of blood outward from exposed places, as he was thrown forcibly backward by the force of the calculated blast. He even heard the thud of at least one solid body knocking into a floor, or a wall.

Severus imagined he could hear bones cracking…or perhaps it was simply furniture tearing itself helpfully into kindling. It would be easier for Voldemort that way. Voldemort was very fond of fire…and explosives…

Darkness greeted Severus like an old friend. He welcomed it this time.

--

There was something heavy in his lap…something sticky, that didn't belong there. And the smell of blood soaked the air.

Metallic and fresh.

Harry fought against the reflexive gagging that burst up his esophagus. The tangy blood seemed to be stuck to the back of his throat now. Almost as if he'd actually tasted it.

Moaning through wrinkled lips, Harry willed his eyes to open. Hammers seemed to be pounding right behind his sockets. It was dark…and cold. Wind was biting against his bare shoulder, even though Harry was certain he was fully clothed. At least, he thought he remembered getting dressed that morning. He felt very confused…and tired.

Harry blinked as he stared upward. The stars splashed against the velvet expanse of night were very fuzzy.

Stars?

_What had happened to the roof?_

With fumbling fingers, Harry felt his face; his glasses were just as they should be. Wanting to get the awkward weight off his legs, Harry fumbled some more, this time reaching toward his lap. His fingers probed gently until they found soft purchase on what could only be flesh, and it seemed to be rounded, and had hair. His relief whooshed into panic as his fingers suddenly slid into something so sticky and wet, it coated his fingertips. And the fresh scent of coppery blood assaulted his nostrils again.

His heart thudding madly against his ribcage, Harry quickly pulled his wand, which mercifully, was still poking into his lower back, out of his pocket and aimed it as best he could. "Lumos," he said hoarsely.

Huge, round eyes stared, unblinking, back at him.

Half-screaming, half-moaning, Harry frantically batted his hands it—at Dodgy's head. He dropped his wand as he tried to scramble away and there were three dull thuds as the head bumped along the ground. The tip of Harry's wand illuminated eerily along the floorboards…Dodgy's head was nowhere to be seen.

Somehow, Harry's feet had propelled him upwards, and he stood with his back against something as solid as a wall, his chest heaving as he tried to make his heart stop its stuttering.

_He's-**dead**…He's-**dead**…He's-**dead**_, it seemed to be saying.

Harry wanted to tell it to shut up. Of course Dodgy was dead. His head, his _decapitated head_ had been sitting with him for only Merlin knew how long. _Dodgy's head_.

Harry swallowed down the revulsion as reality finally caught up with him. Dodgy had exploded. He must have. He didn't understand how or why, but in the split second before it had happened, Snape had realized it was about to happen; Harry had seen it in Snape's face. And Sirius had been standing in between Snape and Dodgy. Close to Dodgy…

A cold wretchedness clutched at Harry's chest, and began spreading slowly toward his limbs.

_Where's Sirius?_

There hadn't been even a scratch when Harry had cried out. Not a rustle of movement from anywhere nearby. Nothing to indicate that anyone was alive in here.

With a swipe so fast, it was almost indecipherable, Harry had his wand back in his hand. Wishing he could keep its tip pointed straight ahead so he wouldn't have to glimpse Dodgy's head again, Harry moved cautiously along the wall and trained his _Lumos_ toward the floor. No head.

Harry swept his wand arm higher, attempting to find his bearings. The creeping shadows and razored edges made it difficult to tell exactly where he was. He'd been standing closest to the bathroom door. Harry twisted a little, ignoring the twinges in his back and arms. He ran the wand tip up and down. There was a wall behind him, but no door.

"Sirius?" he called out softly; his throat felt like burnt parchment. The whistle of the wind from above his head greeted Harry's call. Harry glanced upward, training his enchanted light toward the stars. The ceiling wasn't entirely gone; he could make out jagged edges of roof. He wondered pointlessly if the rest of the tiny shack had been similarly singed. His room across the hall was very likely to have been, since Dodgy had been standing in the doorway.

Harry's throat tightened again. Sirius had been standing awfully close to the doorway. With fear increasing his volume, Harry called out again, "Sirius!"

Silence.

With his fingers beginning to ache around his gripped wand, Harry shouted coarsely, "Snape!" Nothing. "Professor!" he tried again. _He can't be dead_, Harry told himself as his heart skipped wildly. _He was standing right next to me._ Not caring anymore if he saw all of Dodgy's mangled remains, Harry commanded loudly, "Lumos Maximus!"

The tip of his holly exploded with light.

Harry began retching uncontrollably. There were no mangled remains. There were bits of Dodgy, tiny bits pelted haphazardly around the space that had been Snape's room. Blood dripped in scarlet rivulets from the walls and the remaining half of the bureau to Harry's left.

Too much blood for one tiny house elf.

"Sirius!" he cried, panic seizing his chest and making it very difficult to breathe. Pages of books, and scraps of fabric stretched a path of destruction across the room. All the way to the far side of the room where Snape's heavy oak bed was still more or less intact. The mattress had caved in, split into two ragged pieces and the bottom two legs were no longer in sight, with a lumped pile of twisted coverlet on the floor. Snape's chair, where Sirius had been dozing only minutes before, was on its side, as if someone had casually knocked into it.

Cursing fate, Harry stabbed his wand toward the doorway. There was a gaping hole where the corridor should have been…and Snape's tall cupboard was gone.

And Sirius had been standing so close…

The ache in Harry's chest became a sob. The wet, cracking sob wrenched its way through Harry's throat. But a muffled choking was all that issued through Harry's lips. He pushed the despair firmly away. He wouldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe Sirius wasn't all right. Not when he'd just gotten his godfather back.

His eyelashes wet with unshed tears, Harry stared helplessly at the jagged hole.

--

**TBC...**

**Thanks to JadeSullivan for her help!**


	14. Splitting

**Disclaimer: Recognizable characters and settings belong to JK Rowling.**

**A/N: From this point onward, please assume there might be implied, imagined, or graphic violence. Enjoy. **

**Chapter 14: Splitting**

Harry forced himself to turn away from the splintered wood that had erupted from the wall and jarred its way into the ceiling. Snape's cupboard, the one that had probably been filled with potions, was gone…hell, the entire bloody corridor and Harry's bedroom beyond were gone. He couldn't really imagine how the bed hadn't been blown to ashes as well. Blown to ashes…

"Sirius?" It was plea now.

There was a soft rustling to the left. Harry swung his wand around. A foot.

Harry almost fell over in his haste to get to the space next to the imploded bureau…the dark shadow that had eluded him as he'd shoved Dodgy's head out of his lap in the previous minutes. And there it was again. Dodgy's grimacing features stared lifelessly at the bloodied leg.

All the hope died in Harry's throat as he saw the dark fabric of Snape's dressing gown, draping in gruesome elegance over one of Dodgy's floppy ears. So anxious, that he barely registered the horror of what he was doing, Harry nudged the head aside with the toe of his trainer and dropped to his knees.

Snape was wheezing…or maybe he was trying to say something, Harry really couldn't be certain. Especially with the way his heartbeats seemed to be roaring in his ears. Harry tried to stay calm as he pushed flotsam away from where he hoped Snape's head was.

Snape blinked fuzzily up at him.

"Professor?" Harry heard his own voice as though it was coming through a long tunnel.

"Potter?" Snape demanded. Harry stared at him; the professor sounded…panicked? It made sense he supposed; Snape's main job at the moment was to keep him alive. "Potter!"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered, feeling very slow; hadn't he already answered? He gazed down at the professor, wondering blankly how he'd managed to find him. "I need to find Sirius…" Harry nodded, more to himself than Snape. Snape could help him search through the rubble. Sirius might be hiding…

--

"Black?" Severus blinked several more times, and tried to ignore the streams of pain throughout his limbs. Smashing into walls with such force would do his recovery no good. Although it hardly mattered anymore. He couldn't return to the Dark Lord.

"I can't find him." Snape didn't like the fevered look in Potter's eyes. "I found Dodgy's head," he added, sounding a hairsbreadth from hysterical.

Severus stared at the black-haired boy. "His…_head_."

"It was in my lap," Potter supplied with a short shudder. "I can't find Sirius though, and I should be able to. It's not such a very large room." His eyes were large and pleading. Severus narrowed his eyes.

"Help me up," he demanded. Potter complied hurriedly, and with screeching limbs, Severus was leaning tentatively against the wrecked bureau, being careful not to stir too much, lest he be impaled by a stray piece of wood. Severus glared at Potter, who was fidgeting. "Your wand," Severus said shortly. How had the daft boy not thought of this; no matter how anxious he was?

Potter didn't even ask why this time. He simply handed the holly over.

"Point me, Sirius Black," Severus commanded impatiently. Potter's wand went berserk, waving wildly back and forth, and then spinning around and around. Severus' lips pressed together. Potter was staring at his wand in confusion; he obviously hadn't understood. "He's dead," Severus murmured through his lips' pinched edges, softening the blow where he normally wouldn't, hoping Potter would be able to control himself.

It was a foolish hope.

Potter's mouth opened, but there was no immediate sound. His mouth moved strangely, almost in the same way the house elf's had. And then his eyes began darting around, belatedly following the movements of the Point Me Spell, as he finally began to understand just what had happened to Black.

"No!"

Against his will, the single gasped word made Severus flinch. And then Potter was repeating it over and over again. A litany of fury and despair. Until, for one darkening moment, Potter's eyes focused. His gaze honed in on Severus.

"I'll kill him," he declared, the words calm and ugly. "I'll make the bastard pay for this. I'll kill him." A new litany was born. Severus watched, almost with fascination, as Potter began to work himself into frenzy, the words pouring from his lips with a fervor Severus would never have suspected the boy capable of.

Like a madman now, Potter's hand lashed out toward the wand in Severus' hand, as though he meant to complete his vow immediately. Nearly caught off guard, Severus hastily uttered a threatening snarl as he used Potter's wand to end the idiot's little maniacal fantasy.

Potter pitched forward, and it was with every muscle screaming at him that Severus managed to catch him under the armpits before he crashed into a lethal scrap of bureau.

Severus, having no better place to set him, and no strength to continue holding him, lowered Potter's head toward his chest. Severus' momentary burst of strength evaporated quickly and his arms all but flopped into his lap before he could place Potter in a bearable position; Potter's cheek slumped against Severus' bunched dressing gown sleeve, leaving Severus' arm trapped below it.

Instinctively, Severus sucked in a breath, trying to move his torso as far from Potter's face and upper body as possible. A splintered piece of oak rebuked his effort. Severus hastily twisted his shoulder away from the sharp wood, gasping as he did.

There was nowhere to go.

Pity reflex had taken control of his reaction. He should have slapped some sense into the irksome boy instead of putting him to sleep. But instinct had overcome him; at least now he could think in silence. And there was, indeed, much to think about. Much to plan.

Black's death certainly could have been timed better, Severus thought resentfully. He did not relish the thought that Potter, once again, had become his sole responsibility. At least Black, for a short time, had been good for something.

--

"Potter!"

The low, impatient hiss grated against Harry's senses. He kept his eyes firmly closed. If he opened them, Sirius would be gone. Sirius…Sirius would be dead. And Snape…Harry swallowed…Snape would have survived.

In that eternal moment, he hated Snape. Hated him more than he had even when Snape had been attacking him. Hated him more than he hated Voldemort for murdering Sirius.

"I hate you."

He hadn't meant to say it, but he savored the way the words felt on his tongue. So much that he wanted to say it again.

"The feeling is mutual, Potter," Snape's ragged voice informed him, and Harry opened his eyes. The words no longer tasted as good. Snape was probably glad to be hated by him. "Get off my lap," Snape ordered in the raspy voice Harry had become accustomed to in the last few days.

His lap?

When the words penetrated his brain, Harry quickly complied, which was a mistake. Sharp jabs of pain jolted his shoulders and shoulder blades. He ignored them and scooted as far away from Snape as possible, which unfortunately wasn't particularly far. Dodgy's head blocked his exit.

Harry knew an urge then to pick up one of the beams of fallen wood and as he would any Bludger, send the head flying through the caved-in roof. It would be immensely satisfying. Though not as satisfying as using Snape's head instead.

He glared at Snape. Snape glared right back.

"Give me my wand," Harry suddenly growled, finding it resting beside Snape's leg.

"Get it yourself," Snape replied with a scorn that was barely muted, even though Snape was clearly still having difficulty speaking. Good, Harry thought bitterly, serve him right.

His conscience didn't even blink at the hateful silent commentary.

Harry snaked his arm forward and swiped up his wand, giving Snape no chance to change his mind. After all, Snape didn't have his own wand…

Harry's eyes widened as Snape's fingers moved a little in his lap; he was clutching his wand tightly in his left hand; his knuckles were taut with the effort. "But…" Harry's eyelids blinked rapidly of their own accord and harsh, unwelcome emotion clogged his throat. "Sirius…" he tried to explain, but he couldn't. He couldn't. Sirius had been holding that wand. Had slid it carefully into his pocket.

And now there was nothing left. Wet, choking heat burst through Harry's lips as he tried desperately to hold back the sob. Nothing left of Sirius, except Snape's wand. "Your fucking wand!" The sobs hauled the fury through and then Harry had to turn away as the dam of grief in his chest gave way. "Sirius…"

--

Potter wailed Black's name.

These tears were very different from the ones Severus had witnessed before from Potter. Potter's slight body was wracking, not with tremors that fear had too long pent up, but with anguished heaves. It was uncontrolled and raw. And it made Severus frustratingly uncomfortable.

He couldn't even turn his face from it, not with the bureau's splinters grazing his cheek. He closed his eyes. He would have preferred to tell the whelp to cease the emotional display, but he doubted very much Potter would have been able to comply.

With his eyes firmly cut off from the sight, the sounds of Potter's despair were sharper. The sobs burrowed into conscience, digging into every nerve, and fraying each slowly until Severus' patience finally erupted. His eyes popped open again and he brought his wand up a little, fully intending to hex Potter into silence.

His wand arm stilled.

Potter's sobs were growing quieter on their own. Severus watched silently as long draughts of air were pulled into the boy's chest, and with each, the boy gave a wretched shudder. It was as if he was dragging each mournful wail into his lungs in order to bury it. Potter's glasses had been pushed up onto his forehead; the heels of his palms were digging into his eyes, as though the boy meant to impale his eyes long enough for them to cease to function.

It wasn't long before Potter was snuffling loudly, obviously making some attempt—pathetic as it was—to bring himself under control. Severus finally turned away in disgust when Potter began scrubbing at his nose and eyes with his bare arm; his sleeve had been shorn off at some point.

Once Potter was largely silent, except for an occasional hitched breath, Severus turned back to him; his lip curled a little. Potter was hugging his knees, and Severus wondered fleetingly if he was remembering…imagining that he was embracing Black. Severus scowled at the immature child that Potter was obviously morphing into.

--

"We will need to leave."

Harry didn't look up at the stark words; his face was buried against his crossed arms, his shoulders hunched up around his ears. He didn't care.

"The Dark Lord knows where we are."

Harry didn't care about that either. "Let him come," he whispered, mostly to himself.

"He will kill us both," Snape scathed…funny that he could scathe in such a low, un-alarming tone.

"Let him."

"Potter, get up."

Harry didn't even bother to answer the irritated order.

"Potter." Once again, Snape was hissing at him. "If the wards around this shack fail, the Dark Lord will find us instantly."

Harry shrugged. What did it matter? What did any of that matter? Sirius was dead. As far as Harry knew, they were all dead. The Dursleys certainly were by now. And Dumbledore was as good as. For all he knew, Ron and Hermione were dead too.

There was no one left to save.

"Do you believe Black would want this?"

Harry's head jerked up sharply. Snape was staring at him, his dark eyes bottomless. There was a vicious sneer on his ugly face.

"Shut up." Bastard. _Utter bastard_.

"_Do_ you?" Snape challenged, his voice still fuzzy and weak, thought oddly, it seemed almost uncontrolled. "How would Black feel to see you, sitting there without courage? To see you defeated?"

"Shut _up_!" Harry raged. He pushed himself to his feet and stomped the two steps back to Snape. He towered over him. "It doesn't matter what Sirius wants! He's dead, Snape! Dead!"

"Yes," Snape said snidely, "and if we do not leave now, you will be dead as well."

"I don't care!" Harry shouted down at him as he jabbed his wand close to Snape's face, and imagined for one second what it would be like to spear Snape's face through with the holly. Wondered if blood would flow instantly…or if the crimson truth would wait until he had pulled his wand out again.

"_Black_ would care."

As if he'd been popped, Harry's arms fluttered helplessly back to his sides. Even his legs began to feel like jelly; he sank to his knees. _Sirius would care…_

"Sirius…" He couldn't stop the whispered pain as it escaped. "Voldemort killed him," Harry continued, his swallow scraping along his throat. He gnashed his together in sudden fury. "I'll kill him." The words sounded right. He thought he almost remembered saying them before. He liked the way they had sounded then as well.

"Yes," Snape agreed on a drawl, and Harry was momentarily distracted as he wondered why Snape sounded so sure of it. Snape's lips curled, the vicious sneer returning to his lips. "That is why he has been attempting to kill you since you were a child. Because you are destined to kill him."

Harry stared at his professor.

"The _prophecy_, Potter." It was almost sarcasm, as if Harry was supposed to simply know what the damned prophecy had said. That's what the prophecy had said!

"How do _you_ know?" Harry demanded, suddenly suspicious. His fists curled close to Snape's dressing gown, as if Harry meant to pull the edges tight and strangle the information from the professor.

"How do _I_ know?" Snape echoed. Even Snape's scratchy mumbles were sarcastic. But before Harry could either snap at him or demand again an explanation, Snape's eyes seemed to come into a focus they'd been missing for days now. "I know, Potter because the Headmaster told me." It was almost a jeer, a taunt that Dumbledore had entrusted Snape with knowledge that he had purposely kept from Harry. But Harry didn't care. Not now.

_The prophecy foretold Voldemort's death. At Harry's own hand._

His veins were alive again…almost pulsing with a deep, thrumming satisfaction. Voldemort must believe this prophecy. Voldemort, who was not, by any measure, stupid. Voldemort believed in the prophecy so fervently that he'd been trying to kill Harry for years. Before Harry could kill him.

Harry almost smiled. Revenge would be his. Fate, in fact, _demanded_ it.

--

**TBC…**

**A/N: Thanks as always, to JadeSullivan for her invaluable encouragement and help. **


	15. Reflecting

**Chapter 15: Reflecting**

"Sirius…" Harry pleaded as he stared at the space where Dodgy had just been.

Harry's head snapped around at an almost inaudible susurration. A foot. A booted foot—poking out from Snape's rug, which was piled in a heap on the floor.

With his heart caught precariously in his throat, Harry stumbled back to the foot of the bed, and fell with a clunk to his knees. He paid no attention to the rays of pain sent through his delicate kneecaps as he grabbed the rug with his hands and frantically wrenched it away. Sudden tears clogged Harry's nose and eyes.

"Sirius."

There was no hope that anyone would have understood the incoherent, tear-congested mumble that followed, but it didn't matter. Sirius cracked a smile, anyway.

"Harry…" he swallowed thickly as his smile faded, "…what happened?"

Harry drew in a slow breath as he prepared himself. "Dodgy exploded."

"Dodgy…exploded?" Sirius' dark eyebrows scooted toward his hairline.

Harry nodded. "I found his head…in my lap." His voice shook slightly, and he wasn't even sure why he felt the need to tell Sirius. Sirius' eyes widened.

"Oh, Harry…" he breathed. Sirius brought his hand upward. Harry grasped it; the feeling of Sirius' fingers in his own was a lifeline. "Are you hurt?" Sirius asked anxiously; his grey eyes crinkled in concern. Harry tried to bring in a rickety breath, but it was more a series of aborted sobs than true breaths. "Harry?" Sirius probed softly when Harry continued to stare.

Harry finally shook his head jerkily as he tried to discreetly swipe a hand across his eyes. "Can you…sit up?" he asked; he wished his voice wouldn't shake so much. Sirius smiled at him again, this one understanding and gentle.

"I think I'll need a bit of a hand," he said honestly. Harry nodded, and then as smoothly as he could manage, he maneuvered his godfather upright. Sirius grimaced, but otherwise made no objection, until Harry leaned Sirius' back carefully against Snape's bed. Sirius groaned softly.

"Are you all right?" Harry rushed to ask.

"Just a few more bruises," Sirius answered easily, though he was still grimacing a little. He gave Harry's kneeling form a once-over. "You sure you aren't hurt?" he asked worriedly. Harry nodded. The twinges along his back didn't count; he'd had much worse. Sirius paused, considering him a moment longer before looking around. His eyes widened at the destruction. "Where's Snape?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know."

Sirius looked surprised at that; he pursed his lips. But without much hesitation, he shifted his hip a little, gritting his teeth as he did. Harry, seeing that he intended to pull Snape's wand from his back pocket, reached over quickly to pull it out. His hand stilled.

"It's not here…I thought you put it in your pocket."

Sirius twisted his head a little as if to look, but he stopped almost immediately, the motion obviously causing him too much pain. "I thought it was too." His eyebrows were scrunched together.

"Here," Harry said quickly, handing his own wand over to his godfather.

"Thanks," Sirius murmured, still looking bewildered. He aimed Harry's wand toward the room in general. "Point Me, Severus Snape," he commanded expectantly. The wand whirled in a bouncy, uncoordinated, continuous arc. Sirius frowned; he gave the wand a little shake. "Point Me, Severus Snape," he said more firmly. The wand reacted the same way it had the first time.

Sirius lowered the wand slowly, an unreadable expression on his face.

"It's not working?" Harry asked, wondering if perhaps his wand didn't work as well in Sirius' hand as it would in his own. Sirius shook his head though.

"Harry…" He cleared his throat as he paused. "…I…don't think Snape's…alive."

Harry stared at him.

"You said Dodgy exploded…I think the spell is trying to tell us..."

Harry shook his head fiercely. He didn't want Sirius to finish that statement, though Sirius' voice had already begun to trail off, either from the look at his godson's face or from his own reluctance. Harry's stomach rolled as Dodgy's head invaded his thoughts; he shuddered a little as Dodgy's head was exchanged for Snape's.

Sirius, without speaking, reached over and put his fingers against the back of Harry's neck. He squeezed lightly, his grey eyes full of a sudden sadness. Harry swallowed carefully and nodded. Sirius gave him a small smile before dropping his hand.

"I think Snape knew what was happening," Harry said shakily. "He looked like he recognized something when he saw Dogdy..." He wasn't sure how to explain, but Sirius nodded. He sighed.

"I should have just listened when he shouted at us to get out of the way," he finally said quietly, his eyes full of regret. And maybe a little anger.

"You couldn't have known," Harry told him, attempting to reassure, but Sirius shook his head.

He ran a frustrated hand down his face, but didn't comment further. He shifted a little, grimacing again as he moved. Harry shifted as well, and without consciously realizing he was doing it, he was moving to sit beside Sirius, their shoulders touching.

"How could Voldemort have known Dodgy was coming here…how did Voldemort get Dodgy to…do that?" Harry wondered out loud. He shook his head in frustration, not seeing an answer to any of the questions pressing on his mind; Sirius' dark eyes looked troubled as well.

"Somehow, Harry," he said slowly, "Voldemort must know where we are."

"But how could he?" Harry asked, his voice rising a little with his fear. His head swayed back and forth as he remembered Dodgy's words the other day. "Dumbledore put some sort of spell on this place. No one should be able to find it."

Sirius frowned suddenly. "They can't see it, Harry, but if Voldemort was tracking Snape's movements somehow…" He shook his head again, his eyes screwed up with frustration. "A Tracking Charm would do that, but it doesn't explain how Voldemort got his hands on Dodgy."

Harry knocked the back of his head against Snape's footboard, several agitated times. "I hate him," he finally growled.

Sirius glanced over at him; there was a single line in between his eyebrows. "Voldemort?"

Harry nodded sharply.

Sirius' hand came to rest atop Harry's. "You don't hate him, Harry," he corrected quietly. Harry opened his mouth to protest but Sirius shook his head. "You don't Harry, and what's more…you can't." He smiled at his godson's bewildered expression. "You can of course, Harry, but you shouldn't want to. I don't want you to."

Harry still didn't understand. "Why? He killed my parents, Sirius!" Shouldn't he hate the twisted bastard who'd killed his parents without a thought? Not to mention that Voldemort had just murdered an innocent house elf…and Snape.

Sirius hand curled around Harry's fingers; reflexively, Harry squeezed back. "Hatred is a destructive emotion, Harry. You have every right to be angry and every right to want him to be stopped, but if you allow hatred to become a part of who you are, you become like Voldemort. And you, Harry," Sirius said firmly, making sure he was holding Harry's gaze, "are nothing like Voldemort."

Harry closed his eyes.

"You hated Snape." He wasn't sure why he said it, but the instant he did, he pulled in a breath, horrified that it had sounded like an accusation. His entire arm tensed as he waited for Sirius to pull his hand away.

"I hated Peter Pettigrew as well." Sirius' hand stayed right where it was; Harry allowed his eyes to open again. "And it nearly destroyed me," Sirius added softly. Harry looked at him in surprise. Sirius' eyes were dark now, with an intensity which Harry had never seen before. "I wanted to get revenge on him for what he did to your mum and dad. And it cost me everything, Harry." The pressure against Harry's fingers become almost desperate as Sirius gazed at him; his voice was filled with pain. "It cost me you."

"Sirius…"

It was a gasp—an echoing of pain that Harry could feel lodged between his ribs. His lips began to quiver as the world caught up with him again.

Harry's eyes opened slowly; his eyelashes were damp with tears.

He wasn't sitting next to Sirius.

He was half-lying, propped against the arm of a ragged, musty settee in Grimmauld Place, and Snape was slumped in the chair opposite—and he was decidedly alive, and in possession of his wand.

Like a tongue seeking out a newly lost tooth, Harry's left hand closed over the fingers that had only moments ago, in Harry's sleep-induced reality, been gripping Sirius'. The fingers were warm and felt wrinkled with pressure, as if Sirius' fingers really had been clasped there, giving him strength.

Sirius had felt real. Their shoulders had been pressed together—each one supporting the other. And Harry could almost hear Sirius' deep voice again, full of affection and sincerity…and pain. As if for an instant dream and reality had collided, making Sirius real in that instant.

Because you want it to have happened that way, a tiny, mocking voice told him.

Harry swallowed; his throat was burning with grief. He did want that. He wanted Sirius to be here with him, more than he wanted anything else. Wanted Sirius to tell him not to hate Voldemort. Wanted him here so he wouldn't have to be so alone. But Sirius wasn't here. And with everything Harry had, he did hate Voldemort. And he would kill him.

He would avenge his godfather.

Harry drew in a trembling breath as he stared across the small space at Snape. Snape's eyelids bounced a little while he dreamed; his breathing was shallow and irregular. In silence, Harry watched him sleep; he had never regretted waking up as much as he did now.

Harry glowered at Snape with eyes that were red-rimmed and shiny. The steam from his porridge had evaporated nearly five minutes ago. It looked like vomit.

"Eat, Potter," Snape ordered off-handedly as he clutched his chipped teacup so firmly Harry feared it would crumble.

He glanced at Harry's face once and then went back to studying the circular film that had formed over the top of his liquid, pursing his lips as rapid, shallow breaths rasped through his chest.

Face impassive, Harry continued to glare at the brittle-looking skin below Snape's chin. His entire stomach ached; a gaping hole. Harry felt drained and hollow. Thinking of Sirius—of the dream—made his heart pound and his head throb, but he couldn't help but cling to the memory.

To answer Snape now, to taste his porridge would send Harry gyrating into reality. The thought was nauseating.

"Potter," Snape rasped out again.

Harry kept his eyes fixed on Snape's chest, listening to the crackling sound of the man's wheezing.

"Fine," Snape spat, shoving his teacup away with his thumbs. "Starve." The liquid sloshed back and forth, spilling over the sides and dribbling onto the saucer.

Harry's throat felt pinched together.

_Hate destroys us_, _Harry_… Sirius' dream-voice soothed away the painful sensation slightly. But at the moment, Harry could care less that Snape was nearly gasping for air, propped up by the dust-sheathed kitchen table, shifting as though his bones were rusted. Harry's own bones felt as icy as wet metal. Snape was alive, and Sirius lay dead—mutilated.

At that moment, Harry knew what hate felt like.

"People die, Potter," Snape said through a light, scratchy cough. "It is juvenile for you to believe otherwise. Black was never completely safe. None of us are."

Harry's chest wracked with his heartbeat. He shifted his swollen eyes only high enough to glimpse the tangled strands of matted hair strung diagonally across Snape's dry lips. "Don't talk to me," Harry found himself whispering; his voice, high and unfamiliar in his own ears, cracked on every word.

Snape coughed again.

Harry breathed gustily through his nostrils, digging his teeth into the insides of his lips to stop the furious tears from clawing through his sinuses.

"Make eye-contact, Potter," Snape sneered. He paused, his request for obedience failing. "Your sulking will lead you nowhere. You'll only destroy yourself—"

"Shut _up_," Harry growled, shaking his head back and forth in tiny, quick movements as if to dispel the sound of Snape's voice.

"The Dark Lord feeds off of such weakness, Potter," Snape continued, undeterred. "If revenge is what you desire, then—"

"_Dammit!"_ Harry screamed. "Just _shut up!_" He smashed his fist into his bowl of lukewarm porridge with all of his strength.

The ceramic dish flew off of the tabletop and shattered on the floor. Cold hunks of porridge splattered Harry's bare feet, but he didn't care. He clutched his fringe in his fingers, squeezing his eyes shut. Hot, stinging tears leaked out of the corners.

"Pick it up."

Harry barely heard the gravelly command over his sniffle.

"_Potter._"

Shaking his head again, Harry jammed his knuckles under his glasses and dug them into the slickness at the corners of his eyes. "We have to go back," he mumbled.

Snape's breathing was shallow and harsh once more. "Don't be stupid, boy."

Harry listened to the rickety creaking of Snape's chair, knowing very well that the man was holding his breath now as he shifted in pain.

"He's all I have…"

There was a pause, the sound of Snape's wheeze filling Harry's ears like a roaring wind. He didn't look up. He couldn't stand to see Snape's face.

"You're alive." Snape's cold voice creaked over Harry's blistering nerves. "That is sufficient."

…to destroy the Dark Lord.

Harry heard what Snape didn't say, even through the deafening pounding of a day's worth of headache. Harry looked up. The hatred stabilized him, so that he no longer felt like he was careening out of control.

"The prophecy-" Harry forced his throat to open up so that he could do more than gasp. "-that's why Dumbledore wanted me to be kept safe at the Dursleys."

Snape gave him a malicious smile. "And also the reason the Headmaster has allowed you to do things that no mere child has as right to." He paused again, but this time Harry held his gaze with determination. "He was preparing you."

"To kill Voldemort."

Snape leaned toward him, his scarred face twisted into an ugly scowl. "Do not say his name."

"I'm not afraid of him," Harry countered, leaning forward as well, until he could feel Snape's hot, staggered breaths on his face.

"Then you are a fool, Potter."

Harry pulled back at that, more surprised than he would have liked to be. "You're afraid of him?"

Snape's lip curled. He pulled back as well, his breathing growing momentarily erratic until he was upright again. "I am no fool. And if you have any intention of actually avenging your godfather, Potter, you will learn to temper your bravado." He narrowed his eyes as Harry opened his mouth to protest. "Or you will fail. And your beloved godfather will have died for nothing."

The gaping hole in Harry's chest seared its expansion as Snape's black eyes bore into Harry's. Harry's fingernails dug viciously into the tender flesh of his palms.

"I can't fail." The whispered words trembled almost as much as Harry's fists on the dirty table top; Harry didn't even attempt to still the shaking.

Snape had picked up his teacup once more. He studied Harry over the cold, uninteresting brew. "The headmaster planned to continue your training during the course of your upcoming year."

Harry's fingers uncurled. He stretched them to lie flat along the filthy table; the dust clung to the sweaty digits. "You can train me instead." Harry hadn't made it a question, but he was asking nonetheless. He would beg if necessary. And though asking something of Snape was not something that Harry would have ever wanted to do, he felt nothing but burning resolve as the words left his mouth.

"Killing the Dark Lord will not be as simple a matter as you believe," Snape told him, still holding tight to his teacup. "You do not have a real understanding of what it means to kill someone."

The tightness in Harry's throat returned. "I don't have a choice." Tears were ramming against his sinuses again as Sirius' smiling face swam in his vision. "I don't want a different choice."

Snape's lips turned up a little at the corners. It was not a smile of happiness, or even of satisfaction. It was pure anticipation. And Harry soon understood why. "I will teach you to kill, Potter."

The edges around the gaping hole stopped expanding. Harry nodded sharply. "Good."

Snape inclined his head and blew an unnecessary breath across his tea.

Tearing his eyes from his professor, Harry waved a Scourgify at the bits of oatmeal scattered across the dingy floor, and a Reparo at the bowl's many pieces. "Accio," he commanded after it had mended itself. He caught the bowl neatly as it sailed into his hand.

Across from him, Snape sipped his tepid tea.


	16. Twisting

**Chapter 16: Twisting**

_"I will teach you to kill, Potter..."_

Snape's words rattled a bleak cacophony in Harry's brain as he turned to leave.

From where he was slumped in one of the sitting room chairs, Snape grunted in momentary pain as he shifted. Harry hesitated.

"Do you…need anything before I-"

"Don't ask me that again," Snape interrupted brusquely, his back to Harry.

Affronted, Harry frowned at him. "I was only trying to-"

"_Help_," Snape finished with a curled lip. "I know." He shifted again—this time in silence. "I don't _want_ your help."

"Fine," Harry said tiredly. As he turned away, Snape grunted again. Harry paused, but didn't turn around again. With a sigh, he trudged up the long staircase, his clammy hand squeaking along the banister. Snape had already decided to use the sitting room as his sleeping space, and Harry had briefly debated staying in there with him again, but Snape seemed to be even grumpier than usual.

Not that there was _that_ much difference actually.

He didn't really fancy staying upstairs alone, though not because he was scared. There were simply too many memories attached to this place. Harry had stayed carefully downstairs since he and Snape had arrived, and Harry realized that had been a very good decision as soon as he cleared the final step. The screeched insults assaulted his ears; Harry clapped his hands over his ears, but it didn't do any good. With his shoulder smushed up against the wall opposite Mrs. Black's portrait, Harry hurried quickly by, not even wanting to get close enough to yank the curtains closed.

At least Kreacher was nowhere to be found, though not even Snape had any idea where the little house elf might be. "I assume your godfather made you his heir," he had said soon after they'd arrived, his voice almost mocking in its unusually high timbre. "The elf must realize you are his new master." Harry had no idea if Sirius had made him his heir, but he _was_ certain Snape's last comment had been an insult of some sort, though at the time, Harry had been too tired, and too distracted by thoughts of Sirius needing an heir to care very much.

Harry slowed his slightly breathless pace as he realized he was coming to a familiar door…Sirius' door. Clenching his teeth tightly together so that his lips would be still, he stopped completely, unable to continue past.

Feeling incredibly foolish and not caring in the least, Harry pressed his palm against the pitted wood. He let his forehead fall softly against his fingers. The door wasn't closed all the way; it squeaked as his forehead pushed it open. Harry slowly lifted his head, and he was staring at Sirius' bed; the covers were rumpled in a haphazard pile.

He could almost hear his godfather's voice.

_Harry._

He closed his eyes as his mind traveled back to the beginning of his summer stay here. He'd been so happy to see Sirius. With his hair cut shorter than Harry had yet to see it, Sirius had grinned at him, and Harry had launched himself without thought into his godfather's arms. He hadn't wanted to let go.

Harry's feet moved of their own accord, taking him to Sirius' bed, until he was sinking into the soft mattress. His fingers wound in the bunched and faded coverlet and idly tugged until it was wrapped around his shoulders. He needed to be in here—where Sirius had been only days before.

He could feel his presence here.

With a wavering sigh, Harry rolled onto his side, and with the covers still pulled firmly around his body, he curled himself into a ball.

_Kreacher, where is he? _

It was Sirius' voice, but it had been Snape who had called for the elf as soon as they'd arrived. Snape had wanted the elf to make their tea, but of course, Kreacher had been nowhere to be found, and Harry had made the tea for both of them. Harry's memories were obviously playing tricks on him…

_Because your master is demanding you tell me where he is._

Harry squeezed his eyes tightly together as he tried to shut out Sirius' shadowed voice. He didn't want to be Kreacher's master now. Clutching the blankets up against his ears, Harry determinedly ignored the erroneous memories demanding his attention and forced his mind to concentrate on nothing, until he began to drift.

--

"Pay _attention_, Potter!"

Harry's head snapped around. Snape was glaring at him from where he was half-leaning against the mantle.

"I _am_," Harry said through clenched teeth, though he actually had no idea what Snape had been saying.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Repeat my last instructions," he demanded.

Harry blinked as he scrambled to force his memory to tell him what Snape had said. Nothing came to him. "All _right_," he finally snapped when he could no longer stand Snape's black eyes piercing his own. "I wasn't paying attention. Happy?"

"_Happy_, Potter?" Snape echoed incredulously. "Oh certainly," he drawled. "I am _thrilled_ to be stuck here, attempting to train an ungrateful brat who cannot even do me the courtesy of paying attention when I speak!" The words were spat venomously across the room, but instead of cowing Harry, they irritated him.

"I'm paying attention now, so just get on with it," he said crossly.

Snape straightened a little from his slight slouch. "I will not tolerate your disrespect-"

"Yeah, I know," Harry interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You'll hex me or beat me or starve me half to death if I so much as look at you cross-eyed. We've been through this already, remember? I get it."

Snape's mouth had snapped shut half-way through Harry's diatribe, and Harry finally realized Snape was staring at him.

Harry shifted uncomfortably under the black gaze.

When Snape spoke again, his words were uncommonly stiff. "We will try the exercise again," he instructed. "This time, you will think about the Dark Lord. And _only_ about him—a memory associated with fear will work best."

Expelling an exaggerated sigh, Harry nodded. The cemetery would work. He closed his eyes quickly, wanting to get away from the weight of Snape's gaze.

He forced his mind to go back to the cemetery. He could hear Voldemort's scratching voice. _Kill the spare_.

Harry gasped as the words stabbed him.

"Concentrate on the memory, Potter," Snape's harsh voice warned as Harry's eyes twitched toward opening. Harry clenched his teeth and forced himself to allow the memory to surface.

Cedric's unseeing eyes staring up at him.

His arm outstretched outward as Wormtail advanced on him—his back pressed against the stone pyre. A flash of pain—fear blossoming as Voldemort rose from the depths of the dark potion. He'd wanted to cry, wanted to give into his fear. He'd forced himself to think of other things. Of his friends…of Sirius…

Sirius' subtle grin flashed before Harry's vision. The cemetery spun and morphed until he was in Sirius' bedroom—last night with the blankets tugged tight around him, cocooning him—keeping him safe. Yes, a much more pleasant memory…

"_Harry, what are you doing up here?"_

_Harry pulled the blanket slowly down from where it was shielding his vision. He blinked up at the fuzzy Sirius-shaped apparition. "What'd'yamean?" he asked muzzily, realizing belatedly that he had slurred the words. _

_The bed dipped with a tired groan. Harry shifted himself up on his elbows as the tight, sleepy sensation drained from his eyes. Sirius was shaking his head as he gazed down at him. _

"_I've been looking all over the house for you," he said, sounding exasperated—and relieved._

"_Sorry," Harry said through a yawn. "I didn't realize I was so tired, I guess…" He looked around the room, and realized he was in Sirius' room. "Oh." He glanced back at his godfather. "I didn't really mean to come in here…I don't think."_

_Sirius' eyebrows puckered in confusion. He smiled a little. "You were so tired, you couldn't tell which room you were in?"_

_Harry shrugged sheepishly. "I'm still catching up on my sleep I guess." He hesitated. "You don't mind, do you?" _

_Sirius shook his fingers absently through Harry's fringe. "Of course not," he said quietly. "You're to consider this house as your own."_

_Harry sat up, drawing his knees up to his chest. He was afraid his voice would betray him so he simply smiled. Sirius patted his knee a few times. Both of them looked up in surprise as, in a flurry of mournful trilling, Fawkes appeared above their heads. Sirius' eyes' widened. _

"_Dumbledore," he whispered. Harry, his heart skittering, watched with confusion as a large scroll was released from Fawkes' curled claw. It fell directly into Harry's lap, and then as the notes of Fawkes' song deepened with telling grief, the beautiful bird disappeared again. _

_Both Harry and Sirius stared at the scroll in Harry's hands._

"_Dumbledore's..." Harry couldn't finish, but Sirius was already nodding. His eyes were shining with tears. Harry could feel his throat beginning to burn as his fingers clenched around the scroll. Dumbledore…dead._

"_Fawkes must have been-"_

"Dammit, Potter!"

Harry blinked as he tried to figure out why Sirius was glaring at him. "What?" he asked stupidly. But it wasn't Sirius. It was Snape's scarred face that was thrust so close to his own. "_What?"_ Harry demanded again, testily this time as he pulled back from Snape's furious gaze.

"You were distracted!" Snape growled.

Harry stepped back. "I wasn't. I was just…" He glanced toward the stairs and absently scratched above his ear as he tried to think of a plausible scenario. He didn't really want to explain that he'd been caught up in the memory of the dream he'd had last night, instead of thinking about Voldemort, as Snape had ordered him to do.

"You smile every time you think of the Dark Lord, then?"

"No," Harry snapped. His lips twisted as he turned back to face Snape. Snape was sneering at him, his arms crossed over his chest.

"If you intend to continue wasting my time-"

"I'm trying!" Harry said angrily. Snape lifted an eyebrow in clear challenge. "I _am_!" Harry insisted furiously. "I was thinking about the cemetery, when Wormtail cut me."

Snape looked momentarily confused. "And _this_ makes you smile?" Harry ignored the curiosity in the question.

"Of course not," he retorted. "I was thinking about Sirius as well," he blurted before he could stop himself.

Snape stared at him.

"I didn't mean to," Harry said impatiently. Snape couldn't possibly understand.

"Black wasn't in the cemetery," Snape told him unnecessarily.

"Of course he wasn't," Harry said bitingly. He wondered if Snape was being so irritating on purpose. Harry shoved his bothersome fringe out of his face. "Never mind," he said through an agitated breath. "You wouldn't understand," he muttered.

"I have no doubt," Snape drawled. But then his eyes hardened. "Focus, Potter. Daydreaming about your godfather will not teach you anything," he said reprovingly. Harry glared at him.

"I wasn't daydreaming."

"You were smirking like a loon," Snape informed him coldly. "How did your memory of the graveyard turn into one of Black?"

"I wasn't-"

"Answer me, Potter," Snape snarled, closer now. Harry clenched his fists, about to tell Snape to go to hell. "Unless you want to practice evading my Legilimency Spell, you will answer me."

"You-"

"_Now_, Potter." Snape's voice was barely a whisper, and he was fingering his wand, almost lovingly, as he gazed at Harry. He raised the wand as high as his waist.

"I was thinking about a dream I had last night," Harry ground out.

Snape lowered his wand.

"A _dream_." Snape grimaced in agitated disgust. "I see there is _still_ little in attempting to teach you anything."

Harry slashed his arms through the air. "I was _trying_," he said again. "I can't help it if I was thinking about Sirius. I-" He took a shaky breath. "-can't stop thinking about him," he said softly, and immediately hated himself for the admission.

"Then there is no reason to continue these exercises," Snape said dispassionately, as though he hadn't even heard Harry's pain. He turned slowly back toward the fireplace.

"Because I failed _one_ time?" Harry demanded incredulously, thrashing through his fleeting feeling of vulnerability.

"You will _continue_ to fail, Potter," Snape told him. "You've demonstrated your unwillingness to learn over and over again." Snape didn't even turn around to address him.

Harry stared at Snape's slightly hunched back. "_This_ is why your attempts to teach me don't work," he said with a shake of his head. "You don't know how to teach."

Snape turned slowly around; the glowing sconces on the walls made his eyes glitter. "So, it was my fault you could not learn Occlumency, was it? And my fault now, that you cannot even manage to keep your thoughts on the Dark Lord for more than two minutes?"

Harry's fists were curling in agitation at Snape's scrutiny. "How am I supposed to stop thinking about Sirius?" he asked; his voice was more plaintive than demanding.

"I told you, Potter, your godfather is dead, and there is nothing to be gained from dwelling-"

"_How_ am I supposed to just forget that he's _dead_?" Harry cried. His palms pressed into his stomach as he stared at Snape, without really seeing him. "I keep dreaming about him. Every time I close my eyes," Harry rasped out. "He's there in my head. And it's like he's really there. I can hear him sometimes, even when I know I can't. I was dreaming…I was sure I was, but he was sitting right next to me. I know it. And I heard him…"

"What the hell are you talking about, Potter?"

"I-" Harry abruptly stopped speaking. He squinted, confused by his own babbling. What _was_ he talking about? "I…I could see it," he explained, wincing at the words as they emerged, but he didn't seem to be able to still his mouth.

"You could see _what?_" Snape demanded in exasperation.

"The mattress was indented, just like it always is when someone sits on it..."

A tense silence engulfed the space.

But Harry had no time to regret speaking.

Snape shook his head slowly. "You are delusional."

"I'm not!" Harry exploded, incensed beyond reason at the observation. _He wasn't!_ "I saw it there and my fingers…he was holding my fingers the first time I dreamed about him. And you'd died but somehow he didn't even have your wand anymore, and Kreacher was here. I _heard_ Sirius calling for him. And Fawkes came becasue Dumbledore died. It was different than a dream..."

Harry's face screwed up in a snarl as he realized Snape was staring at him as if he indeed had gone mad.

"But you don't even want to believe me, so of course you'll say I'm delusional. I bet you'd love that, wouldn't you? The great Harry Potter," he mocked, "as barmy as the papers claimed. And _then_ you'd have an excuse for why you can't manage to do your job!"

"Still your tongue," Snape said quietly, his voice and eyes now filled with rage, but Harry barely heard him.

"You'll need some sort of excuse, won't you?" he spat. "So that Dumbledore won't be completely disappointed in you, since you've lost your other role as an arse-licking puppet-"

Fire ignited across Harry's cheek, ending his rant; the sharp crack of Snape's palm echoed through the room. Harry's fingers flew to his face. He winced as they made contact.

"_Fuck_," he breathed, stumbling back a bit.

Wild panic rose up through Harry's chest as his brain made sense of what had just happened.

He squashed the familiar fear that immediately churned through him. There was nothing to fear. Snape could only cause him pain; he wasn't afraid of pain. But his slick fingers clutched around his wand anyway. He stared at Snape, willing himself to ignore the hurt he wasn't willing to feel.

Hatred flared in his chest again. He would focus on that.

Hot tears stung Harry's eyes. He blinked ferociously, his cheek stinging and warm. He pulled his wand up, level to Snape's hateful face.

"Don't come near me again," he said shakily; he couldn't help the tremor in his voice. "I might not be able to kill you, but you won't like what I _am_ willing to do to you." His voice sounded hollow.

Snape's features remained still as porcelain. He said nothing, not even to warn Harry not to threaten him.

As his wand began to tremble in his clenched fingers, Harry pivoted, almost losing his balance as he stumbled toward the stairs.

--

Snape sat slumped in one of the Black family's worn chairs. He was staring absently at the ceiling, the fingers of his right hand curling and uncurling slowly from where they were hanging off the arm of the chair. The lunch hour had come and gone as he sat there. And yet, his blistered palm still ached.

He had no idea what had done it—what had sent him over the edge.

In the past, he'd come close to hitting the horrible brat on several occasions, but Albus' blue eyes in the forefront of his mind had always stopped him. Except after Potter had entered his Pensieve. Potter had moved too swiftly for the jar to make contact, and Snape had been relieved once his anger had subsided.

The Headmaster would have had his head.

Potter's cheek would have ceased smarting nearly a half-hour ago, yet Severus' palm continued to burn, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. One of the tenderly healed blisters had broken open; it stung each time Severus' flexed his fingers. Jars of salve still remained in the cob-webbed cupboard; his blisters could be repaired in minutes.

Severus clenched and released his fist once more, staring at a frayed gash in the arm of his chair, shutting out the sound of a slamming door. _The furious gleam that instantly flooded the green eyes…_

Weakly, Severus snarled to himself.

Potter was nothing more than a _child._

_--_

_**TBC...**_

**A/N: Thanks once more to Jade for writing this with me! To everyone who was curious, Jade wrote the first half of Harry and Snape's conversation last chapter. This chapter, the lines are a little blurrier throughout, so much so that I can't easily remember who wrote what, except the last few paragraphs which are very much her work. Thanks Jade!**


	17. Rushing Waters

A/N: JadeSullivan will be co-authoring the remainder of the story. Thanks Jade!

**Chapter 17: Rushing Waters**

Harry stared at the spidered crack in Sirius' ceiling.

His eyes lazily traced the meandering dash, trying to will himself to fall sleep, even though he hadn't yet had lunch. But if he was sleeping, at least he wouldn't have to worry about anything else. Not about Voldemort, and not about Sirius.

Harry shifted on his hip, trying to ignore the tightness in his stomach. The dreams of Sirius had been more vivid than any others he'd experienced—they'd seemed even more real than the visions that Voldemort had once tormented him with. But they _couldn't_ be visions. Sirius was dead.

And that meant Snape was right.

_Delusional_…

The word stung, almost as much as his cheek had. Harry reached a finger to poke lightly at the slightly warm skin; he winced.

_Bastard._

Harry glowered up at the ceiling, letting his anger at Snape fester—it helped to fill the hollow ache in his chest. He had no choice but to put up with Snape, even the professor's maltreatment. At least until he'd learned enough to face Voldemort. Snape was no worse than the Dursleys had been; he could handle himself. He wasn't afraid of Snape. Not anymore.

Harry smiled as he realized that there had been no Cruciatus rearing up to swallow him when Snape had struck him. His moment of panic had been fleeting. There'd been nothing to be afraid of—just as Sirius had said.

Tears prickled Harry's eyes. He desperately wished Sirius could be here.

Harry turned his head so that he could stare at the photo on the bedside table. Sirius was laughing out at him, his arm slung across Harry's shoulder as they stood together…a good memory.

Harry's eyes grew heavy as he continued to gaze at the photo. He smiled lazily as he drifted…

--

Harry scrubbed at his eyes, trying to wipe the sleep from them as he fumbled with the covers; he wondered how long he'd been asleep. Finally managing to sweep the heavy covers off his legs, he pushed himself up from the soft mattress, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the gloomy darkness. Feeling for the edge of the bed again, Harry took a tentative step forward. His toe caught the edge of the rug, and he stumbled forward, clumsily whacking his knee against the wooden bed frame.

He swore sharply, biting his lip against the stabbing pain, as his fingers scrabbled against the bedclothes for purchase. He pushed himself up unsteadily.

"Harry?" Harry's head turned automatically at the croaky summons. "Illustrio Mugio," the low voice commanded, and a soft glow sprung up from the surrounding walls.

Squinting in the flickering lamplight, Sirius pushed himself up on his elbows. His brow puckered as he stared at his godson.

"Sorry," Harry said, glancing down as he rubbed quickly at his kneecap. "I didn't mean to wake you. I tripped," he explained. Sirius shook his head, brushing away the apology; he sat up.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice soft with concern.

Harry hesitated; his brain felt fuzzy.

"Bad dream?" Sirius asked with a sympathetic squint; his eyes strayed to Harry's scar. Harry's fingers unconsciously stretched toward it as he shook his head.

"Not really."

Sirius pulled on the coverlet still draped over one of his legs, straightening the blankets a bit. "You should have grabbed a torch to walk through the corridors," he said with a small smile. He patted the space next to him. "Want to talk about it?" he asked when Harry continued to stare at him in confusion. Sirius frowned. "What is it?"

"I wasn't…" Harry gestured vaguely toward the door. "…I mean, I was already in here…"

"You were?" Sirius asked, his eyebrows arching in surprise.

"I tripped getting out of the bed," he explained, suddenly feeling very embarrassed about obviously needing his godfather, though he couldn't remember coming in. "I…" Harry looked away, his cheeks beginning to feel very warm.

"Harry," Sirius said gently. Harry turned back to face his godfather. Sirius was smiling at him, the lines around his mouth relaxed. "It's all right," he assured Harry. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about. I didn't realize you'd come in earlier, that's all. You should have woken me up."

Harry bit his lip, feeling foolish, even with Sirius' reassurances. "I don't remember coming in here."

"You don't?"

Harry shook his head, feeling even more ridiculous. If he'd been sleepwalking…well, that just seemed worse somehow.

"Come sit," Sirius invited again softly, his tone deliberately steady. He tugged on the coverlet over the vacant space to smooth it out. "You're just a bit loopy from dreaming is all."

"No," Harry muttered to himself, shaking his head weakly, though he began shuffling forward. "I don't think that's it, Sirius."

He tucked his foot underneath him as he slowly sank down onto the bed, still pondering—he felt as though he were sitting in McGonagall's class, raising his hand one moment and suddenly forgetting what he was about to say the next—frustrated, knowing that the wisp of memory was still floating somewhere in the back of his brain.

"What's this?" Sirius spoke up. All of a sudden, his godfather's face—pinched with concern—was very close to Harry's own.

"What's what?"

"Your cheek," Sirius said with emphasis, gently palming the back of Harry's head to keep him from pulling away. "You've got a bruise, Harry…" Sirius glanced up at him worriedly. "How did that happen?"

Harry's hand automatically flew to his cheek; gingerly, he pressed the area, flexing his jaw against the dull ache in his skin. "I've got a bruise?" he asked, still probing.

"Yes," Sirius said. "A fresh one…" He dabbed his thumb along Harry's cheekbone. "Does that hurt?"

"No," Harry replied honestly. "Not there."

"Only here?"

Jerking slightly, Harry sucked in a sharp breath though his teeth.

Sirius winced. "Sorry…I must have pressed too hard."

"It's all right," Harry said quickly, as he'd jolted from surprise at the sudden twinge more than actual pain.

"Harry…" Sirius breathed questioningly, sitting cross-legged, still peering at his godson in dismay as he released Harry's head. "How in the world did you get that?"

The fuzzy feeling was back—the wisp of memory that Harry couldn't seem to capture.

"I'm not sure," he mumbled, still feathering his fingertips over the tender skin. "I think I hit it…"

"When?" Sirius pressed.

Harry shrugged, glancing over at his godfather. "When I fell…"

"Just a minute ago?"

"Yeah…" Harry gnawed a portion of his lip. "I think."

"On what?" Sirius asked him, frowning in perplexity.

"On the…erm," Harry began, wrinkling his brow, "the bedpost?"

"You're not sure?" Sirius queried, looking more worried than amused at Harry's absentmindedness. "You're certain you didn't hit your head?"

The haze of a memory flashed through Harry's mind like a fleeting nightmare. Someone's hand—a stiff hand—had collided with his cheek, hard enough to make his eyes water. He remembered waking up, lying next to his godfather, with wet eyelashes and a stinging ache at the back of his head.

Not once in Harry's life could he remember being slapped in the face—not even Vernon had possessed the gall to do it, though he threatened on a daily basis, it had seemed. Had he perhaps fallen before he'd lain down? Had smacking his cheek against a piece of furniture brought him to tears? Harry scratched at his forehead now, still thinking. No; he had never cried over something as silly as a fall—this instance wouldn't have been an exception.

The swinging hand floated to the surface of his memory once again—a broken sequence of pictures in slow motion. Even if his brain had spun a bizarre dream out of a fall, the pain of a palm cracking against his cheek was vivid—much too real. Everything after that was blurry…except the glowering disgust of Snape's thin face…

"Have you gone from me?" Sirius' voice sliced through Harry's thoughts.

Glancing up at his godfather, Harry blinked several times to anchor himself in reality. "I'm here," he said.

"You need to lie down…" Sirius applied pressure to both of Harry's shoulders, attempting to push him toward the diagonally-stacked pillows. "You don't look well."

"I think I had a dream, Sirius," Harry told him, leaning on the heels of his hands to keep himself upright. "About Snape…"

Sirius paused for a brief moment, his eyes flickering over Harry's face, before resuming his efforts. "It's very normal to dream about someone after he's died," his godfather murmured, "even if you weren't close to him—"

"No." Harry shook his head, resting on both elbows now. 'I didn't dream of him in bits—his body, I mean. He was alive."

"He was your teacher, Harry," Sirius reminded him. "And you stayed with him for a while until he came for me, remember. It's only natural for him to drift about in your dreams..."

Frustration tightened Harry's chest. He shook his head again, desperately, wishing he could explain how real Snape had been. "But it doesn't make sense."

"Most dreams don't."

"You don't understand-"

"Lie down," Sirius insisted. "You'll feel better if you do. You look exhausted."

Defeated, and feeling as if he hadn't gone to sleep at all, Harry's head squashed the pillow; he lifted a hand to his face, rubbing his fingers along his eyebrows.

His memory worked to connect the disjointed images—strands of black, lanky hair, more oily than usual…skin peeling around the edges of a set of pale fingertips…a chipped bowl full of lumpy gruel…flashes of unexplained of anger and hate so intense that the air felt choked from Harry' lungs…

A dark voice…_I will teach you to kill…_

A silly dream, just like Sirius had said. Because Dumbledore's letter had explained everything…he'd even relayed the Prophecy—the one that Voldemort had coveted. And he'd said that _Sirius_ would help him do what he had to do.

_You're not alone, Harry. You will be taught everything you need to know. I know you will be well cared for—never to be alone again. _Those were Dumbledore's exact words. Sirius would get him through the task set before him.

Not Snape. Snape was dead.

_There weren't really any angry words, no cold tea…_

Warm fingers were stroking Harry's forehead now, tickling his hairline; his limbs sank into the mattress like weights. Harry sighed through his nose, fighting to keep his eyelids stretched open.

"It's very late. Everything will seem clearer in the morning," Sirius said softly, from somewhere above Harry's head. "I promise."

Harry allowed his eyes to slip closed. _Of course, Sirius was right…_

"You can tell me about it then…"

Breathing deeply in time to the soothing strokes along his scalp, Harry felt his whole body relax; minutes later, he drifted peacefully to sleep.

--

Before Harry's eyes had even opened fully, he gasped in a harsh breath. He twisted frantically toward the other side of the bed. A rush of grief assaulted him. "No…" he whispered in anguish.

Sirius wasn't here.

_Another dream._ It had been too real to be a dream. But that's all it was. Sirius hadn't been lying next to him, telling him that things would be all right…

Harry stared at the empty space beside him, his eyes fixed on the pillow--on the head-shaped dent right in the middle.

He stared until tiny spots danced in front of his eyes.

For a brief instant, Harry felt the draw of madness. He wanted to grab the pillow and tear its ends until feathers fluttered through the air as he tore it to a thousand pieces. But he wasn't mad. Not yet. His hand grazed over the second indent, his fingers dipping into the pillow's curve.

_Something was very wrong. _

His hand went to the back of his jeans. Harry swiveled his head around to peer in his pocket. His wand wasn't there, where he was certain he'd carefully tucked it after threatening to hex Snape. Something he still didn't regret.

Pushing aside thoughts of the professor, Harry pushed himself up off the coverlet. Funny—he was sure he'd fallen asleep _under_ the blanket. He didn't have time to dwell on it, however. He needed to find his wand. Harry knelt down, wincing a little as his tender knee brushed against the floor, and swept his fingers under the bed. Nothing but a few balls of dust floated over his fingers. For good measure, Harry ducked his head down and peered around the floor.

Nothing.

With a sudden flash of anger, Harry realized that Snape must have taken it. _The greasy bastard must have Accioed it while he'd been asleep! _Furious, Harry clenched his fingers into fists and stalked out of the room. He realized there was very little he could do to defend himself against Snape without a wand. But that wasn't going to stop him from giving the git a piece of his mind.

Harry wrenched open Sirius' bedroom door.

He paused before he got far. The door across the hall was wide open. Harry's eyes narrowed as his fury mounted. Snape must have been upstairs. That door had been closed—it was Regulus' room, and Sirius had always kept it pointedly closed. Wanting even more to get his wand back, Harry marched across the narrow corridor and into Regulus' room.

As soon as he stepped inside, he grabbed the knob, intending to leave the door as Sirius had meant it to be. He abruptly halted. His mouth drooping in confusion, he stared at the bed. The covers were rumpled—as though someone had just gotten out of the bed.

Harry's eyes wandered to the table beside the bed. The hairs on the back of his neck crept to attention. Next to a roll of parchment and a dog-eared book lay Harry's wand.

Eleven inches of holly and phoenix feather—lying diagonally across the tabletop.

A loud pop sounded somewhere downstairs, and Harry spun around, his heart racing along his throat. He scooped his wand from the table, holding it out protectively in front of him. Harry curled quickly around the doorframe and into the darkened corridor.

"I was burned."

Snape's flat voice floated up from below. Harry narrowed his eyes, as he strained to hear a response.

"I didn't think I'd find anyone here. Is Harry still with you?"

Harry felt his shoulders dipping down as his heartbeat began to slow. That deep and accented voice could only belong to Shacklebolt. Harry stopped at the top of the stairs and carefully lowered himself to sit on the topmost step.

"He's upstairs," Snape's cold voice returned, before given him the abbreviated version of Dodgy's demise. He sounded even more icy than usual. There was a pause.

"Has Albus been in contact with you?" Shacklebolt sounded nervous, more than curious. Harry leaned forward, though he kept his wand in his fisted hand.

"Is he awake?" Snape's voice betrayed surprise—and something else. As if the professor was unsettled about something. "I have not spoken to him since before Harry fell ill."

There was a heavy sigh—from Shacklebolt, Harry assumed. "We have so far found no explanation for it," Shacklebolt said wearily, "but Albus, along with many others…they're missing."

As if an icy finger had trailed itself across Harry's nape, the tiny hairs crested upward once more.

"Missing?" Snape demanded sharply, his voice rising on the last syllable.

"And there seems to be no pattern to it. Witches and wizards have simply gone without a trace. Several key members of the ministry have disappeared as well."

"The Dark Lord-"

"There has been no hint of activities that could have been traced back to him," Shacklebolt interrupted. "There was a fire on Privet Drive, which marked the beginning of a round of vicious attacks on Muggleborns." Harry's breath caught in his throat upon hearing about the Dursleys' house on Privet Drive and the comment on Muggleborns—his mind raced toward Hermione.

Shacklebolt cleared his throat. "Harry's house-"

"Yes," Snape interrupted this time, absolutely without a trace of emotion. "I was there. The Dark Lord was there as well."

There was a short silence, during which Harry wondered why Snape hadn't told him about the particulars of the fire.

And then Shacklebolt's deep voice again. "I'd like to speak with Harry."

Harry stood uneasily, finally crossing over the shadows from the corridor, and stepped heavily down the stairs. "I'm here," he said, not meaning for the words to come punching out of his lips. Both Shacklebolt and Snape looked up.

"What happened?" Shacklebolt asked, his dark eyes zeroing in on Harry's left cheek.

"There were a lot of flying objects when Dodgy exploded," Harry said with a shrug. It was true enough. Harry felt Snape's sudden gaze at the lie; he ignored it to focus on Shacklebolt.

Shacklebolt, looking deeply exhausted, nodded. "Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall both said that the Headmaster left instructions for you to remain with Professor Snape."

Harry nodded sharply. Shacklebolt looked between them. "The house on Privet Drive-"

"I already knew about my relatives' house," Harry told him with a business-like nod. He didn't care about that. "What happened to Dumbledore…and the others?"

"I don't know." He turned back to Snape. "Those of us left, are ready to carry on with Albus' plans, Severus."

"What plans?" Harry asked suspiciously. Shacklebolt shook his head, and Harry scowled. "For me to kill Voldemort, you mean?"

Shacklebolt looked surprised. "How did you-"

"He had to be told," Snape interrupted, sounding neither regretful nor self-righteous.

Shacklebolt's surprise intensified as his gaze flicked to Snape. He studied Snape before he continued. "I assume you are still with us?"

Snape's stiffened, though the motion was barely detectable. "My loyalties have not changed," he said through his pressed lips.

Shacklebolt nodded. "Albus trusted you." Not giving Snape a chance to respond, Shacklebolt turned again to Harry. "I am sorry to hear about your relatives and Sirius," he offered, his voice and face filled with regret. Harry could only nod jerkily as tears stung his eyes. He didn't allow them to fall. He wanted to say something about Tonks—and Moody, and whoever else was gone now, but he couldn't.

"Have you had any pain in your scar, Harry?" Shacklebolt asked, his tone turning slightly more professional.

"Not since…" Harry swallowed, "…we came here."

Shacklebolt sighed. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. Harry wondered how dark the circles were under his own eyes. "If you do, let Professor Snape know, would you, Harry?" At Harry's nod, Shacklebolt said to Snape. "We will be waiting for word of any changes," he said quietly. "And I will contact you, should we receive news of Albus."

Snape nodded curtly. With a short goodbye to both of them, the tall Auror spun on his heel and Snape and Harry were left alone in the sitting room.

Too many thoughts were spinning around in Harry's brain, but he didn't want to have to speak--to start sorting through them. His cheek no longer prickled, though he wouldn't be surprised at all if the area was sporting a bruise. That was probably why Snape was staring at him. Harry guessed that Snape wished that he'd split his lip instead.

"You don't know anything about Dumbledore, do you?" Harry demanded suspiciously.

"No."

Harry wasn't particularly inclined to believe him, but neither could he find a plausible reason for Snape to withhold information about Dumbledore. Snape, unlike the Headmaster, didn't seem the secretive type.

Harry wasn't surprised to hear that Voldemort had been quiet over the past few days—his scar hadn't prickled even once since Dodgy had exploded. _And why the hell was Snape still staring?_ How much could he actually regret not doing even more damage to him? Or perhaps he was angry that Harry had retrieved his wand. Harry's nostrils flared as he remembered how furious he'd been upstairs.

"_What_?" Harry finally demanded.

Silently, Snape picked up a wide-mouthed flask sitting on the table next to him. He held it out. "Bruise Salve," he said shortly.

_Was he offering an exchange?_ Harry glared at him.

"You shouldn't have gone into Regulus' room," Harry said sullenly, ignoring the offer. "I need my wand. It wasn't a very good hiding place for it anyway."

Snape's fingers tautened around the body of the flask. He narrowed his eyes. "What are you babbling about?"

Harry held out his wand, sideway, for emphasis. "My wand," he reminded the obviously doddering professor. "You stole it and put it in Regulus' room."

Snape opened his mouth, his eyes sharp as knife points. But then his mouth snapped shut. He lifted his chin a little. And when he spoke, his words were measured and slow. "I do not know where Regulus' room is. _Nor_ would I steal your wand. You need it to protect yourself. Perhaps," Snape continued, his words now exaggeratingly annunciated, "you were sleepwalking."

Snape extended the salve toward Harry; it was obvious now that he was attempting to placate Harry as if he were some sort of rabid animal.

Harry slashed his wand through the air and stuffed it into his pocket with wrenching force. "I didn't sleepwalk, and I'm not delusional!" he growled. "So stop speaking to me like I've gone round the bend. And I don't _want_ your stupid salve."

Snape's face immediately darkened. The flask of salve crashed down onto the little table. "I have not _touched_ your wand," he spat. "Nor am I as idiotic as you seem to believe. If I wanted your wand, I wouldn't _hide_ it in Regulus' room," Snape finished scathingly. "Accio Harry Potter's wand!" Harry's wand whizzed itself out of Harry's pocket and into Snape's outstretched hand.

"Hey!" Harry protested as his arms flailed in a futile attempt to recapture his wand.

"Do you see, Potter?" Snape sneered. "If I truly wanted your wand, I would simply take it. There is no reason to be devious about it."

Harry fists quivered by his sides. "Give it back to me!" he demanded furiously, feeling like he was facing Dudley's gang again.

Snape hesitated, and Harry thought he would refuse.

"Give it back." The words shook a little, though Harry told himself it was from anger. Snape's jaw clenched, and then with a disgusted flick of his wrist, he released his flaccid hold on Harry's wand. It dropped with a soft clatter on the floor near Harry's feet. Harry bent down hastily to retrieve it.

Suddenly, a strange jolt rocked his knees forward. Harry stumbled, just managing to catch himself with his palms before his face planted against the wood.

He lifted his head. A dizzying rush of colors and sounds assaulted his senses. Red and yellows swirling into greens so quickly he couldn't keep up. There were soft creaks and doors slamming…the scents of coffee, bruise salve and aftershave mingling together in his nostrils.

Floating…he was floating…

He could see the top of Snape's head as Snape bent down, offering a hand to a boy with messy black hair.

_Dreaming…_ Harry thought dazedly. I'm dreaming again…

"_Don't touch me," Harry blurted. He jerked himself away from Snape. Harry snatched up his wand from the carpet. Harry swayed as he stood up. _

"_Harry, what are you doing down here?"_

_Harry's head swung around. _

_Sirius, his hair disheveled from sleep, was standing in the doorway; he looked tiny from this distance._

"_Sirius?" Harry demanded as the color drained from his face._

"_Black?"_

_Sirius spun sharply toward the sputtering query. "Snape?"_

Cold, rushing wind swept through the room, and Harry dropped from his floating perch to collide with the mirror-image of himself below. His skin tingled all over—alternating between hot and cold.

This couldn't be right.

Snape and Sirius didn't belong together. He only dreamed of each man separately. One of them was always dead. But there they stood, each man staring in wide-eyed shock at the other.

Harry stared between them. Back and forth, his eyes roamed. Sirius…Snape, together—gawking at one another in the sitting room as if each was seeing a ghost.

It couldn't _be._ He was dead.

_But which one?_

For some reason, Harry couldn't remember. Had he been dreaming of Regulus' room, or had he really seen it?

The room revolved in slow motion around him, his temples pounding.

With a hiss of pain, Snape suddenly grasped his left forearm.

Harry cried out as blinding pain exploded in his forehead; his ears buzzed.

Sirius turned toward him. Harry could see Sirius' lips forming his name, but the only sound he could hear was the roaring in his head. He was going to be sick.

His knees buckled. Harry felt himself caught under the armpits as he slumped forward.

Pain seared leisurely through his scar.

Harry stared up in confusion at his godfather's blurry face. He shouldn't be able to feel pain—not in a dream. "My scar," he moaned before he began expelling his breakfast—all over Sirius' shirt.

Sirius tightened his hold, lifting Harry up.

--

**TBC...**


	18. Raging Torrents

**Chapter 18: Raging Torrents**

"Scurgify."

Harry felt the tingle of the cleansing spell as it drifted over him. He shivered, though he certainly wasn't cold.

"Better?" Sirius asked in muted tones as he wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders. Harry leaned into Sirius' side, blinking muzzily as he realized they were sitting on the floor. A slow thrum of pain pulsed through his scar, but he nodded. At least he didn't _think_ he was going to sick up again. Sirius squeezed his shoulder; the solid warmth felt good. "Does your scar still hurt?" he asked.

Ignoring the question for a moment, Harry glanced upward; Snape was looming over them, his fingers still clamped over his left arm. He was staring at Sirius with shocked eyes. Harry turned back to see if Sirius was pinning Snape with the same bewildered expression. He wasn't disappointed.

"This isn't right," Harry said, his voice weak and throaty; he breathed thickly through his nostrils.

"What the hell is going on?" Sirius demanded, his eyes flicking from Snape back to Harry, absently pressing his knuckles against his godson's pallid cheek. "We thought you died," Sirius informed the man, his own voice unsteady.

Snape narrowed his eyes suspiciously as his gaze raked over Sirius and Harry. "_I've_ been here with Potter since Dodgy's demise. It is you who appeared out of nowhere, and it is _you_ who should be dead." As Sirius squinted his eyes in further confusion, Snape pointed his wand at him and growled, "Revalo."

Nothing happened.

"I'm not in disguise," Sirius told him, though he didn't sound offended that Snape had suspected as much. "Harry and I came here after Dodgy exploded—together." Snape gave him a challenging look, and so Sirius pulled his grandfather's wand from the waistband of his pajama bottoms and repeated Snape's spell—on Snape this time. Snape continued to stare down at them.

"This is…" Sirius shook his head, unable to finish the sentence. Snape didn't look any less stunned by what he was seeing in front of him.

"You can't both be here," Harry said, almost to himself; he rubbed at his brow line with a tight fist.

"Explain, Potter," Snape ordered from above. Sirius, coming out of his slight daze, gave the other man a warning look, before nodding encouragingly at his godson.

"I don't know if I can," Harry said slowly; his head was still spinning with jumbled images—none of them clear.

"_Try_," Snape snapped. Sirius' head whipped around; gritting his teeth as he glared at Snape. Even death had not quelled the antagonism between them.

"Don't snap at him—"

"He's the only who can answer," Snape interrupted with a scowl, meeting Sirius' hatred head-on. "If you would cease your coddling, we might actually discover what is going on." He turned abruptly back to Harry. "Who brought you here, Potter?"

"I…" Harry looked between the two men, his voice faltering with uncertainty.

Snape closed his eyes briefly, impatiently. "You were surprised to see Black, but you are not reacting as though you have seen a dead man walking. You should remember, we thought he was _dead_, Potter. You act as though you've seen him previously. Though it is obvious that Black is rather stunned to see _me…_"

Harry stared for a second—a bit taken aback by Snape's lengthy speech. "I saw all of you—and me…I could see myself as if I was flying…" he finally faltered; he rubbed at his forehead again.

Sirius' and Snape's eyes connected over Harry's head. Harry shook his head at both of them, feeling ridiculously stupid.

"I'm delusional, just like you said I was," he lamented, his eyes holding Snape's. "Only now I'm dreaming that both of you are alive." He pressed his hand over his eyes now, hoping to force the pain in his scar away.

"You said he was _delusional_?"

Sirius' irritated voice washed over Harry as he pressed harder against his aching scar. But whatever Snape might have said in response was cut off as Sirius' fingers gently pried Harry's hand away from his eyes, and asked, "Is it worse?"

Harry stared at Sirius' concerned face. He shook his head, deciding the little lie was better than worrying his godfather. "It's not too bad."

"Take this," Snape's voice growled from above them. Both Sirius and Harry looked up. "We have more important matters to discuss than Potter's discomfort," he snapped as he slapped a small vial of blue liquid into Sirius' palm.

Sirius eyed the vial suspiciously.

"I have no plans to poison him," Snape said in his most scathing voice. Sirius studied Snape for a second longer, obviously still unsure of the man's existence, before he popped the seal on the vial and handed it over to Harry. Sirius watched as Harry drank it without hesitation. The pain in his scar began to recede immediately. Snape wasted no time in banishing the empty vial and pinning Harry with a very intense glare.

"What did you mean, we cannot _both_ be here?"

Harry wiped the back of his hand over his lips. "Things are fuzzy," he tried to explain. "Like I've been dreaming for the last few days…of everything that's happened, but I can't remember either of you being together in the same room since Dodgy…"

"What do you remember?" Sirius' question, in sharp contrast to Snape's, was infinitely milder—and filled with concern.

Harry shook his head, futilely trying to clear the jumbled pictures he couldn't sort through. "You died, Sirius," he said in equal parts confusion and grief. It had felt so real. "I was so angry—and Snape promised to help me avenge you-"

"But I've been here with you…we came here together, remember? After we couldn't find Snape…" Sirius said, his worry deepening his voice. "We thought he was dead."

"I know," Harry said without thinking about it. He paused in surprise, and looked up at Snape once more. "You died. But you were training me—you told me about the prophecy…"

"No, Dumbledore's letter told you about the prophecy," Sirius interrupted.

"What letter?" Snape demanded.

"Fawkes brought it when Dumbledore died. Do you remember that?" Sirius asked Harry gently.

Snape stared at Sirius. "Where is it?" he asked, his voice strained almost beyond recognition. Sirius gestured toward the stairs.

"Harry put it in his room—he's been staying in Regulus' room."

"Regulus' room." Snape's voice sounded strangled. Sirius nodded.

"Accio Harry's letter from Dumbledore," he commanded, pointing his wand toward the stairs. Within seconds, a tightly rolled scroll flew down the stairs and into Sirius' hand. He handed it over to Snape, who was looking rather white around the mouth.

Snape unrolled it slowly. "…to be delivered to you upon my death," he read, his voice hollow. His fingers suddenly released their hold on the parchment; the scroll snapped itself back into a tight roll. "Impossible," he said, fury echoing in the word. And on cue, startling all three men, a streak of smoky silver flew into the room—a Patronus in the form of a lynx.

It opened its mouth and said, in Shacklebolt's deep, sorrow-filled voice, "Albus' body reappeared in the Hogwarts' infirmary a few moments ago—he is dead."

"Reappeared?" Sirius questioned as Snape's pale fingers crushed the scroll.

Harry's brow puckered as snatches of an argument floated through his brain.

"Dumbledore and some others disappeared without a trace," he murmured. "But he'd already died…" He turned abruptly toward Snape, more confused than ever. "You put my wand in Regulus' room…but you said you don't know where it is."

Sirius looked between them.

"No, Harry. You forgot your wand when you came into my room a few hours ago." He gestured toward Harry's cheek. "You tripped and said you hurt your cheek…I couldn't understand though how-"

Harry's hand flew to his cheek, and he immediately started in surprise as his fingers grazed the tender skin. His eyes connected with Snape's, almost without thought. Harry remembered now.

Snape's jaw visibly clenched. The hand that had struck Harry twitched.

"You tried to give me Bruise Salve after…"

Snape's eyes flashed.

Sirius looked between them, his eyes narrowing as he echoed in a tight voice, "Bruise Salve?" When Harry didn't make any sort of motion in response, he frowned. "Harry, you said you'd _dreamed_ of Snape, just before you woke up…" Sirius' glare settled on Snape. Snape tried to make his face blank, but even Harry could tell he was uncomfortable under Sirius' gaze.

"It wasn't a dream." The memories sharpened as Harry slowly pulled his hand away from the still-sensitive skin. "I can't explain what I mean," he said to the far wall, "but now I remember both of you dying. And I remember being here with both of you too. Dreaming of one when I was with the other. But the dreams were too real..."

He looked around again then—at Sirius. Harry' throat was so dry, he almost couldn't speak. He forced himself to. "Like there were two of me."

"Foul, filthy blood traitors…"

Harry's head turned sharply toward the muttered words. Kreacher was ambling past the parlor door, his little face twisted in disgust. Kreacher, who had been nowhere to be found when he and Snape came here.

Harry looked over at Snape; his black eyes were wide with surprise. Kreacher gazed at them with bleary loathing. But in the next instant, with a familiar roll of disorientation, the room seemed to spin again, and Kreacher was no longer standing in the doorway.

"Harry…"

Harry swiveled toward Sirius, the motion so slow, Harry felt like he'd been trapped in a vat of Sticky Sap. Sirius was grimacing oddly, as though he was in pain.

And then as surely as he had been kneeling right in front of him, Sirius was gone.

Harry lunged.

"No!" he shouted, his arms outstretched, as though he expected to be able to yank Sirius from the blank space in front of him. His hands sliced through the empty air. Finding no purchase, he tumbled forward.

He lay against the worn carpet, his body taut against the floor, his head lifted up. He stared at the empty air.

Ice seeped through his fingertips as they pressed into the floor. His limbs were so heavy and numb he couldn't move them. So he simply sat there and stared. At nothing.

_It was impossible. Sirius couldn't have been here. _

_It was a dream._

He couldn't hear anything but his own ragged breaths; his heartbeat was thick and losing vigor. His eyes were wide as he peered about for any sign that Sirius had really been there.

_Sirius was gone. _

_Again._

His hand pressed over his scar—there was no pain. The heel of Harry's hand rubbed vigorously over the place that had only pretended to throb only moments ago.

_He __**was**__ delusional. Hysterical even._

No longer possessing the strength to keep his neck stretched outward, Harry's head finally drooped toward the carpet.

Harry wanted to laugh, but his throat was too dry.

He let his mind float instead, until the rug in front of his eyes lost its pattern.

Strong fingers curled around Harry's bicep. Lost in a haze, Harry allowed the grip and the firm tug to pull him back onto his knees.

Harry looked up; the face in front of him was blurry.

"Pull yourself together," an impatient voice instructed; the voice sounded muffled in Harry's clogged ears. But once again, Harry obeyed. He clutched the black-clad sleeve in front of his face with both hands, and was half-pulled until he was standing.

Feeling cold all over, Harry wound his fingers into the thin material at his fingertips as his teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. Harry, once again, felt pressure on his bicep, until it was almost painful, but no attempt was made to detangle Harry's fingers from the sleeve.

A moment later the hand moved to his shoulder and he was being pushed downward. Harry sank down onto the lumpy sofa, unsure of how he'd made it there. He heard mumbled words, which he couldn't quite focus on…all he could see was Sirius' face.

He tried to focus on it as something warm was pressed into his hand.

"Drink it."

Arms still unbearably heavy, Harry lifted his warmth-filled fist to his lips. Tea…pungent and hot.

It sloshed over the rim of the teacup.

--

Snape frowned as Potter's hands trembled, making the tea slop over the sides of the teacup. He made an attempt to sip at it but most of the dark liquid dribbled down his chin; almost none of it made it into Potter's mouth. Snape plucked the cup impatiently from Potter's fingers. Potter's hands went slack, and flopped back into his lap.

Potter's green eyes were glazed and unseeing.

A quick diagnostic confirmed the sharp drop in Potter's temperature.

_Shock_.

If he hadn't had so many years of practice at controlling his own responses, Severus might have succumbed to the pull of shock as well. After all, Black and Kreacher both had disappeared with no warning. As had the scroll that announced Albus' sudden death—right from Severus' fingers.

Severus shoved all thoughts of the old man away.

Since slapping the mute boy—again—was clearly out of the question, Severus peeled the moldy blanket from the back of the settee. After applying a quick Cleaning Charm, he let it drop from his fingers; it only partially covered the shivering Potter. Hissing in irritation, Severus took hold of Potter's shoulders and twisted his body so that he could make the boy lie down.

Potter made no protest as he was pushed down. Not paying much attention to the movements, Severus snatched the blanket away and directed a Warming Charm over the boy instead. Grimly satisfied, Severus pointed his wand toward the kitchen and called for a Sleeping Potion. If Black was indeed in some other plane, surely he could snap the impossible boy out of his stupor. Severus broke the seal with his thumbnail.

Shaking Potter's shoulder, in an attempt to get his attention, he ordered, "Drink this, Potter."

Potter stared up at him blankly.

Severus grabbed his shoulder, forcing Potter to sit up a little. "You need to sleep. Drink it."

Potter's green eyes flickered. "No!"

Severus reared back a little as Potter's hands batted the vial away. The fog cleared rapidly from Potter's eyes as he struggled to pull himself upright again; Snape offered no assistance. "I can't," Potter said hoarsely, clamping his hands over his face. "I _can't_ go to sleep. I don't want to dream of him anymore. He's dead but I won't stop seeing him…"

Severus lowered the vial. "You haven't been dreaming of Black," Severus told him in a thin voice, hating the way those eyes held his. The green eyes flashed in momentary anger.

"I have! I tried to tell you-"

"Black was _here_," Severus interrupted sharply, wanting to stem the customary tirade. "He isn't dead." No matter that Severus could hardly believe it himself.

Potter's mouth snapped shut.

"He was really…but it can't be…" Potter shook his head like a dog shaking the last water droplets from his ears.

"Something has happened to change the natural flow of time and space. And somehow, you've been moving between two different timelines," Severus explained, unsurprised that Potter had not gleaned as much from their brief minutes with Black. With a disdainful wave of his wand, Severus added, "It does not matter that you cannot grasp the concept, Potter. The facts remain as they are. You have spent time with both of us in the past days, when such a thing should not have been possible."

Potter sat up straight, his eyes suddenly filled with fear. "What if it's no longer possible?"

Snape scowled in annoyance. "Precisely why I am attempting to make you sleep. _To find out_," he stressed when Potter looked confused. "It seems you only see Black when you sleep, and presumably you have "dreamt" of me when you went to sleep in his timeline. You need to go to sleep again."

Snape waved the vial impatiently in front of Potter's nose, when Potter didn't move, "I would have thought you'd be disgustingly excited at the prospect of seeing your godfather."

He watched as the boy closed his eyes; his knuckles were white as he gripped the vial.

"Where is your Gryffindor courage now?"

Potter's eyes popped open at the jeer. The anger returned to his eyes. Without a word, he quaffed the potion. Not even pausing to hand over the empty vial, Potter carelessly stretched out on the settee, lying on his side. He glared at Severus with defiant eyes until his eyelids began to droop, and his gaze slowly lost its heated focus.

Potter's fingers slackened. The vial slipped from his hand and landed with a soft thud against the carpet.

And then the boy disappeared.

--

TBC...

A/N: Thanks for writing this with me Jade, and for being my fire-lighter!


	19. Over the Falls

**Chapter 19: Over the Falls**

Sirius blinked rapidly as he tried to clear his mind.

Harry was gone.

"Traitorous filth..." Kreacher continued to glare balefully as he trudged toward the stairs.

"Harry?" Sirius called, not caring that his voice wobbled with fear. He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. He swayed a bit, just as he had when he'd woken earlier, to find Harry had left. Only now, Sirius knew Harry hadn't gone back to his room. He didn't understand how it had happened, but Harry had gone to a place without him—to a place that existed only with _Snape_.

He hadn't even understood the significance of Snape's and Harry's words—not until Harry had mentioned the Bruise Salve, and Sirius had seen the way Snape was trying _not_ to look at Harry.

But even though Sirius had watched Harry disappear, the truth wouldn't register.

Raising his wand quickly, and telling himself pointlessly not to panic, Sirius commanded, "Point Me, Harry Potter."

The wand moved in that same, disjointed manner it had when he'd commanded Harry's wand to find Snape, days before. Sirius swallowed painfully as he slowly lowered his wand arm.

Harry would come back. _He had to_.

Feeling uncharacteristically cold, Sirius chafed at his bare arms as he stared helplessly around the room. Knowing that none of this was possible didn't help at all. Harry had vanished right in front of his eyes. And he and Kreacher were still here.

_Waiting_.

Not until Sirius' muscles were beginning to grow restless from their forced inactivity, did he realize that if—no, when Harry returned, it would most likely be upstairs. Sirius' throat ached as he realized that Harry must have chosen to sleep in his, Sirius', room when he was in Snape's world. Because he thought I was dead… Sirius shook himself out of his rapidly spiraling mood, and turned toward the stairs. A movement out of the corner of his eye had him turning around again.

"Harry…"

The word caught in his throat as he stumbled toward the settee where, against all reality, Harry was curled on his side, where moments ago, the settee had been empty. Sirius dropped down to his knees, reaching out to shake Harry awake. But Harry was already opening his eyes; he blinked up at Sirius, confusion muting the bright green of his irises.

"Sirius?"

Sirius gripped Harry's shoulder, testing to be sure his godson was really there.

_Solid_.

Sirius let out a rush of air as relief surged through him. Not caring that Harry was sixteen and probably didn't want to be mauled by him, Sirius knitted his fingers into Harry's shirt and pulled his godson roughly toward him. But instead of resisting the awkward embrace, Harry let himself be pulled, and then he all but sagged against Sirius, his forehead heavy against Sirius' shoulder.

"I thought I was losing my mind," Harry muttered.

"You're not," Sirius assured him. "Not unless I am as well." _Of course_, Sirius thought wearily, _I might very well be_.

"I wasn't sure I'd be able to see you-"

Sirius pressed his fingertips briefly into Harry's hair before moving him back a little so that he could see his face. The purpled patch of bruised skin stood out starkly against Harry's pale cheek. Sirius brushed one of his thumbs lightly over the large splotch. "Snape did this."

Even if Snape was supposed to be dead…

Sirius' thumb curled over into a fist as Harry nodded slightly. No, Snape wasn't dead. Snape had _hit_ Harry.

"Why?" Sirius asked through tightly clenched teeth. Harry caught his wrist, and it was only then that Sirius realized his hand was trembling against Harry's cheek. He took a slow breath and waited for Harry to answer.

"I told him Dumbledore would be disappointed in him," Harry finally said. Sirius closed his eyes, his fury growing.

"He hit you because you-"

Harry's fingers tightened a bit on Sirius' wrist. "I'm all right."

Sirius swallowed back as much of his ire at he could, not liking the anxiety in his godson's voice. Sirius gave his arm a gentle tug, and Harry released his wrist. "Let's get that taken care of," he suggested, trying to make his tone mild. He pointed his wand toward the kitchen and said quietly, "_Accio_ Bruise Salve."

Sirius and Harry watched the jar fly into the room and settle into Sirius' palm. Rising up out of his crouch, and ignoring the residual reminders of his days with Bellatrix that even potions couldn't get rid of, Sirius sat on the edge of the settee. Harry kept himself propped on an elbow; he turned his face so that his bruised cheek was turned toward the ceiling. Sirius scowled at the imprint of Snape's hand.

Sirius used as little pressure as possible as he massaged the salve into Harry's cheek in slow circles. He grimaced when Harry winced as Sirius' fingers skated over his cheekbone. "Sorry… all done."

Sirius leaned back and recapped the jar. The bruise was already beginning to lose some of its dark purple hue. Sirius had to bite back a comment about strangling Snape—the amount of force that would have been used to leave such a hefty bruise…

"Thanks." Harry tucked his legs under his thighs so he could sit upright; he stayed near Sirius, even though most of the settee was empty.

"You're welcome." Sirius set the jar of salve on the little table before he asked, "Why didn't you use Snape's salve—you said he offered you some." As Sirius said the words, he decided that they sounded like the rants of a madman. Only hours ago, Snape had been dead, and now Sirius was sitting here chatting with Harry about how hard Snape had slapped him. Sirius pressed his teeth together and focused on Harry.

Harry shrugged. "It's hard to remember everything clearly… it still feels a bit like a dream, but I remember being really angry—irrational sometimes…"

It didn't really answer Sirius' question, but Sirius didn't press it.

He leaned forward a little. "Does your scar still hurt?"

Harry shook his head. "It stopped hurting as soon as you disappeared."

It had been _Harry_ who had disappeared, but Sirius didn't correct him; his godson looked on the edge of collapse, and trivialities about which one of them had been pulled out of sync with reality could be discussed later.

"Snape gave me a Sleeping Potion," Harry went on, sounding a bit too close to a full-fledged babble for Sirius' comfort, and it occurred to him to wonder how much sleep Harry could actually be getting if he was reality-hopping when he was supposed to be sleeping.

"He wanted me to find out if I could still come over to..." Harry was saying as he gestured helplessly, "…wherever we are… he said it was important that we find out…"

Harry's voice was creeping toward hysteria.

His brow creasing with spiking worry, Sirius took Harry's shoulders again, wanting to guide him to lie down again, but Harry pulled himself away, his green eyes wild.

"No," he said in a strangled voice. "I'm not going back to sleep, Sirius! You'll disappear again, and I'll… I'll… I can't." Harry's chest heaved as though he'd just run a half a kilometer, and only as Sirius searched his godson's face did he noticed the deep shadows pulling under Harry's eyes.

He didn't know how he hadn't noted the obvious signs of sleep deprivation earlier.

"I know," Sirius said quietly, leaning forward again, but this time to squeeze the back of Harry's neck. Harry leaned forward abruptly and covered his face in his hands as he hunched over; Sirius kept his hand still as he listened to Harry's shallow breathing.

"I'm so tired," Harry whispered against his palms. "I'm losing my mind… I know I am."

"Harry," Sirius said gently, moving the pads of his fingers a little to massage the back of Harry's neck, "you're not-"

"The world can't split in two," Harry protested, the near-moan muffled by his hands. "I don't even know what to believe. What if I'm still dreaming? What if I'm still with Snape, and I'm only dreaming this?"

Sirius didn't know how to argue with that. It was difficult to convince someone else of something you didn't quite believe yourself. After a moment of silence, Harry finally looked up, his forearms coming to rest on his knees. He gave his godfather a half-smile.

"You're wondering if you're a dream now, aren't you?"

Sirius shook his head, unable to smile at the attempted humor. He ducked his head enough so that he was holding Harry's gaze. "I can't honestly say I understand anything about what's happening, but I promise you that we'll sort it out, whatever it is."

Harry nodded, though he didn't look any less anxious that he had before. He was staring at Sirius as if he was trying to make his eyes believe what he was seeing.

"You're not dreaming, Harry. And you are _not_ losing your mind," Sirius said firmly. Sirius almost believed it of himself, that time.

Harry swallowed. "I can't go back there."

Sirius' hand came to rest on the back of Harry's head as Harry bowed it; his fingers wove through the dark hair. "I can put a charm on you that will keep him from hitting you again," Sirius said, his voice low with an anger he couldn't still as he pictured Snape hitting Harry. But Harry shook his head slightly.

"I'm not afraid of him," he said quietly, his voice unwavering as he pressed his palms together between his knees. He kept his head low, slanting his eyes toward Sirius. "Maybe it was because I thought you were… dead, but I was so angry, Sirius," Harry said, as though making a terrible admission. His green eyes were haunted as he continued, "I couldn't wait to get a chance to kill Voldemort. I practically begged Snape to help me learn to kill…" Harry trailed off as he looked away; his voice was rough with shame.

Remembering the conversation they'd had about hatred and revenge right after the little shack had exploded, Sirius understood that Harry thought he would be disappointed in his godson's thirst for revenge.

"I know what it's like to want to kill someone so badly," Sirius reminded him, purposely pitching his voice to be light again. Harry nodded jerkily. "We have no idea what splitting yourself between two worlds might have done to you, Harry," Sirius went on, trying to ease Harry's burden of guilt. "Wanting something isn't the same as actually doing it."

"I have to kill him though, Sirius."

Sirius hated the anguish in his godson's voice. "You'll do it because you have no choice, Harry. It isn't the same as revenge. And you won't have to do it alone."

Harry's eyes slid toward him again. "I'll be alone in Snape's timeline."

Sirius leaned forward again, his grey eyes intense. "Take advantage of what he's offering. _Not_," he clarified, "a lust for blood, but his expertise. Snape knows what he's about when it comes to the Dark Arts. He's been around Voldemort far too much not to."

That brought Harry's head up. "You think I should let him continue on with that? He was trying to make me channel my fear into a… I don't know… a rage deep enough to kill Voldemort without a second thought or something."

Sirius nodded. He didn't doubt that assessment in the least. "Not with that, no," he answered, frowning at the thought of Snape trying to turn his godson into some sort of mindless killing machine. "He can teach you strategies that will surprise the Death Eaters… spells and curses that may give you an edge. Since we have no idea how we'll have to face Voldemort-"

Harry had gone a little pale; Sirius stopped speaking immediately. Feeling like an idiot for prattling on, Sirius grimaced. "I'm sorry," he started to say, but Harry shook his head.

"What if…" Harry's hands fisted together, "… what if we can't fix it? What if I'm with Snape when Voldemort comes for me this time?"

Sirius almost smiled at that. At least, for that question, he had an answer.

--

Harry opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as disorientation washed through him. Snape was staring at him, sitting erect in the chair opposite the settee.

_Snape._

Harry bit the inside of his lip to keep from crying out in frustration. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. He'd tried to stay with Sirius as long as he could, but it hadn't worked. He was back with Snape.

And no matter how many times his brain insisted that Sirius wasn't dead—that the snatches of conversation he could remember having with his godfather were real—his chest was heavy with grief.

"We'll find a way to put everything to rights again, Harry," Sirius had promised at one point when Harry had been struggling to keep his eyes open.

And Harry had protested that they didn't know what had caused it in the first place, even as he'd tugged on his eyelids, trying to encourage them to stay open.

What if it couldn't be put to rights? What if he was destined to stray between two worlds that couldn't possibly exist at all?

"It is much like a disease, Potter. We simply need to find the cure."

Harry looked up sharply. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. Snape was gazing at him steadily, until his black eyes strayed to Harry's cheek.

"One more dose of Bruise Salve should suffice," was his clinical assessment.

Unconsciously, Harry's fingers went to the patch of skin that had drawn so much of both Snape's and Sirius' attentions.

"It's fine," Harry said dismissively as he sat up straight. It was one thing for Sirius to insist that he take care of the bruise, but Harry wasn't going to let Snape act like he gave a damn.

"Playing the martyr, Potter?" Snape inquired with a noticeable curl to his lip. Hours ago, that statement would have thrown Harry into a fury. When he had needed someone to hate. But after Sirius' insistent that he do whatever he had to do to keep Snape willing to train him, Harry simply shrugged; he wasn't going to let Sirius down.

Keeping Sirius' words in the forefront of his mind, Harry stood up and picked up the jar of salve from the table where Snape had plunked it with such force several hours ago—at least Harry assumed several hours had passed.

Snape's eyes had immediately narrowed as soon as Harry reached for the salve. His eyes were nearly slits as Harry quickly spread a thin layer of salve over his cheek. He ignored Snape as he screwed the lid back into place; he finally turned his attention back to the professor after he'd set the jar back on the table.

"Sirius thinks Voldemort is in his timeline," he announced as he turned back around. Snape's eyebrows lifted, surprised about something, it seemed.

"I came to the same conclusion," he said cooly. Harry nodded, ignoring the temptation to retort that Snape probably wasn't as all-fired smart as he liked to think he was.

"And that's why your Mark burned when the timelines crossed, because Voldemort has a Tracking Charm on you and he finally found you again, when he couldn't sense you at all, not since he blew Dodgy to bits." Harry couldn't resist adding the long explanation, wanting to show Snape that Sirius wasn't an idiot.

But Snape raised a disdainful eyebrow anyway, apparently finding it easy to believe that Sirius was an idiot. "That deduction is hardly a feat of intelligence," he said, his words dripping with contempt.

Harry bristled, his fingers curling into fists at his side. But instead of snapping at the professor, Harry forced himself to smile, though it probably looked more like he was baring his teeth. He felt like baring his teeth.

"What else did the two of you manage to deduce?" Snape inquired caustically.

"Do you have to be such a git?" Harry demanded, his resolve to keep his irritation in check, failing spectacularly as he glared at Snape. Snape smiled thinly.

"Apparently."

Harry had no idea what Snape meant by that, but he didn't have time to ponder it. Snape gestured with a flick of his wrist to Harry's wand, which was poking out of his front pocket.

"We have many questions to answer. I will need your wand," he said in a dark voice. Harry stared at him. "Now, Potter," Snape ordered impatiently.

"Why?" Harry demanded.

"I will enter your mind. Since you seem to be at the apex of this little shift in reality, it would be prudent for me to explore every possible angle-"

"Are you mad?" Harry's voice rose with his incredulity. "The last time you went into my head, you almost killed me!"

Snape lowered his eyebrows; it made him look a great deal more menacing that Harry had seen him look in a long time. "You nearly killed _yourself_, Potter, with your ludicrous insistence that I was there with malignant intentions."

"Ludicrous?!" Harry shot back. "You were holding me hostage, threatening to hex me at every turn. And you bloody well enjoyed every minute of it. You _hit_ me for God's sake!"

Snape's shoulders drew back a little, and his eyes suddenly grew shadowed. "Do you wish to fix this problem, or not?" he asked stiffly, not quite making eye contact with Harry now.

_Of course I do, you great stupid arse_, Harry wanted to shout at him. He wanted to rail at Snape—to tell him that he just wanted this whole mess to be over, so he could get Sirius back for good, but what would be the point? Snape would be unmoved. He would sneer at him to get a hold of himself.

So Harry nodded curtly, and tried not to glare as he handed over his wand. Snape said nothing as he set Harry's wand beside him; his eyes were fully averted now, but that was fine with Harry. Until the silence stretched onward.

"Well?" Harry finally asked pointedly.

"You will need to move closer," Snape finally said, sounding suddenly exasperated that Harry hadn't figured out as much for himself. And even Harry couldn't fault him for that. It wasn't as if Snape was recovered from being almost burned to death, after all; of course he should stay seated.

His cheeks prickling with embarrassment, Harry stood up and walked stiffly over to Snape.

"Sit," Snape ordered curtly.

Harry clenched his molars together and did as he was told, settling cross-legged in front of Snape. He felt the tip of Snape's wand against his temple; he almost flinched out of reach, the reaction out of his control, but Snape's crushing grip on his shoulder stopped him.

"Legilime-," Snape hissed, and Harry began to scream.


	20. Plunging

**Chapter 20: Plunging **

Severus uttered the foulest oath he knew as Potter clutched the sides of his head, his mouth open wide on a familiar, chilling scream. Severus pulled his wand tip abruptly back from Potter's temple, cutting off the spell before he completed the word. Keeping his wand pointed at Potter, and sliding jerkily to the floor, Severus quickly rushed out the words that he hadn't used in what seemed like a very long time; they came easily to his tongue anyway.

Potter's screams ceased instantly, ending the _Cruciatus_ almost as soon as it had begun. Potter slumped a little, only remaining upright because Severus' fingers were digging into his shoulder. Potter's eyes were closed, though his lips were still slightly parted, and his limbs were still convulsing with the force of the curse.

Severus put his wand back to Potter's temple. "Legilimens," he said hoarsely, completing the spell with an effort this time.

As soon as he entered Potter's mind, Severus wanted to gnash his teeth. The wall was just as forbidding as it had been on his previous forays. With a hesitancy which was unfamiliar to him, Severus nudged the barrier, testing Potter's response. Pain and fear soaked through the barrier, an echo of all the times that Severus had battled Potter in here before. Severus felt himself flinching from it as pain assaulted him as well.

There were anguished shouts of protest from Potter as Severus leaned against the barrier, but there was no other choice. Potter needed to come out. But as he applied pressure against the barrier, pushing against it, he could feel Potter fighting against him—his anger growing to surpass his fear.

And images of blood and barbed wire rose sharply between them. A reminder, Severus wondered, but _no…this wasn't Potter's image_. It was Severus' own memories of what he'd brought the boy to desire—his own death, rather than to endure another session of this.

The barbed wire changed to fire and Severus remembered how he'd felt as the Dark Lord watched him slowly burning to death. Images of other tortures, some of them more heinous even than Petunia Dursley being systematically raped to death, filled Severus' thoughts. A shudder pounded through Severus' mind as he stared at Potter's barrier.

How many times had Severus himself silently wished for the release of death by the hand of the one who had tortured him?

Severus abruptly stilled his efforts to drive the barrier down. He forced his mind away, giving Potter more space.

Confusion, and then suspicion, washed over the barrier. The barrier strengthened, as if in preparation for an attack.

_I am not here to attack you. You are trapped behind a barrier. _

Severus could not have said where the explanation came from, but he waited for a response—if there was to be any from the parts of Potter's mind that were aware of his presence.

Abruptly, an image of Potter crouching behind a wall invaded Severus' mind. The green eyes were bright with wary distrust.

_Umbridge's curse created this barrier to trap you. _

Severus knew that rational explanations would not help the impulsive boy. Son of James Potter—cared only for himself.

Potter's image sharpened in Severus' mind. There was a door against the wall, and Potter seemed smaller than he really was—smaller even than he had been when he'd first entered the Great Hall, though his clothes were so big that they must have been meant for someone three times his size.

There were loud voices calling from somewhere off in the distance.

_Freak_, the voices said. And the space began to shake around Potter. Potter grit his small set of teeth, waiting it out. The shouting didn't end though. And the miniature version of Potter put his fists to his eyes. Severus understood the gesture immediately. A scared little boy trying desperately not to cry.

Severus closed his mind from the image, even as he wondered who Potter had been hiding from then.

Severus focused on the barrier in front of him. Potter's fear had trapped him once again.

_I will not hurt you. _

As the promise left his mind, Severus wondered how much it would take to harm a Gryffindor.

Severus brushed against the barrier. Potter made no protest this time. Severus applied tentative pressure, waiting for Potter to rear back. But Potter made no sound. And cracks began to appear along the towering wall.

_We need to hurry. _

Severus reached toward the wall, scoffing in agitation at his own word choice. _We_. There was no _we_ in this scenario. Severus was, as always, the one who had to save the ungrateful boy's hide. After all, this was the boy who had been handed every-

Chunks of wall began to fall.

They were being pushed from the_ other_ side.

Jagged slabs of wall scraped against one another as they began to plummet toward Severus. Severus, finally realizing that he was gaping like one of his idiot first years, began scrabbling at the wall with as much force and speed as he could.

Dust and debris rained down on him, until finally, in a great cascading hiss, the wall crumbled.

Potter, breathing heavily, stared at him from the other side.

And then without having commanded it, disorientation swam around Severus as, together, they were ejected from Potter's mind.

And Potter continued to stare at him with cloudy eyes, though he was lying on the floor in Black's sitting room now.

The haze cleared slowly from Potter's eyes, and with a jerky movement of his palms against the floor, he tried to sit up. But his arms gave way, and he slumped back to the hard floor, only having managed to move a mere centimeter.

There was a sheen of sweat on his face, his chest was heaving, and he was still staring.

With his lips turned down, Severus dug his fingers into Potter's shoulder, and pulled him up sharply. Potter's hands hung limply between his knees, his head drooping a little.

But finally Potter stirred again, and Severus realized his fingers were still tightly gripping Potter's shoulder. He immediately uncurled them. Potter reached a hand up and began massaging the spot absently. He sat up a little, still looking too unsteady to stand.

"Don't move," Severus snapped. Potter's head came up, confusion glazing his eyes once more.

"I…" The word was a croak.

Severus waved his wand in an impatient arc, calling for a glass of water from the kitchen. He shoved it toward Potter as soon as it appeared in his hand. The cool liquid slopped over the rim of the tall glass and splashed onto Potter's trousers.

Potter stared at the splotch as it spread slowly across his knee.

"Take it," Severus commanded.

Potter looked up again. With trembling fingers, he obeyed.

Lowering his hand, Severus' slowly dropped his gaze, focusing numbly on a small, tattered hole in the carpet. He tightened his chest against his own dense breathing, ignoring the steady thud of his heartbeat as he listened to the water slosh against Potter's throat.

--

"Again," Snape ordered brusquely.

Harry, panting heavily, nodded and raised his wand. Snape wasted no time. And as he had been all afternoon, he countered as many of the hexes and curses as he could. It wasn't good enough, as Snape wasted no time in telling him. But Harry knew this was what Sirius wanted, so he went on with it. He hadn't even snapped at Snape once.

"Infligo!" Snape cried, and in the next instant, Harry was being slammed with incredible force into the wall behind him. Harry's groan of pain followed him all the way to the floor, and then he was staring dazedly up at Snape.

"Shit," was all he could think to utter. And even that sounded completely nonsensical.

He watched blearily as Snape waved his wand. "Slight concussion," Snape informed him blandly. A barked, "Stop moving!" quickly followed. Harry froze. He listened as Snape growled out a stream of Latin. And finally, Snape ordered, in a slightly less furious voice, "Sit up slowly, but do not get up."

Using his shoulder for leverage, and wincing at it made contact with the wall, Harry slowly slid up the wall until he was mostly upright. His left ear was tingling with heat from the impact.

He looked up at the creaking of rusted springs. Snape was easing himself carefully into a nearby chair. His features were pasty, even for him. Well, they _had_ been dueling for a long time—and Snape was still supposed to be recovering. But dueling had been Snape's suggestion, not Harry's.

In case Snape had any plans to continue, Harry said as he carefully shifted his aching shoulder, "I don't think I can do much more tonight."

Snape's eyes flicked toward him for only a brief instant before re-settling on the flickering fire. "Obviously."

Harry's fingers carefully probed the side of his shoulder, wincing as they skated over the tender flesh. "I'll just go upstairs then, and lie down-"

"You will stay right there." Snape's voice, like a whip-crack, had Harry frozen again.

"But if I lie down, I can just go to sleep," he couldn't help but protest. If they weren't going to duel, there was no reason to stay in this reality with Snape.

"Did you not hear me say you were concussed?" Snape demanded. "Or are you simply too stupid to understand what that means?"

Harry bristled, but he shoved down the urge to snap back at the professor as the obvious finally occurred to him. No, he wasn't too stupid. He'd simply been too eager at the thought of seeing Sirius, to pay much attention to the facts. "Right," he said with sigh. "You can't sleep with a concussion."

Snape curled a lip, but said nothing. Obviously finding Harry's comment too inane to bother with.

Harry let his head fall against the wall. He stared at the cracked and faded ceiling, wondering how long Snape was going to insist he sit here. With nothing but silence stretching between them.

--

Harry sat up as soon as he opened his eyes. He sighed in relief as soon as he twisted around. Sirius was sitting beside him, snoring lightly. Harry smiled and relaxed, leaning his back against the headboard, moving quietly so he wouldn't disturb his godfather. Remembering what Snape had told him—ordered him, more like—Harry reached inside the collar of his jersey and wrapped his fingers around the amulet Snape had given him all those days ago in the Hogwarts' infirmary.

The amulet warmed at his touch, just like Snape had said it would. The warmth quickly faded away, and Harry waited for an answering glow—for Snape to acknowledge that he'd receieved the message… if he could. But there was no answer, and after what seemed like an incredibly long wait, Harry dropped the amulet back to his chest with a heavy sigh.

He turned as he felt Sirius shifting beside him.

"Harry?" he asked groggily.

"No-" Harry gave his godfather a half-smile as he rolled his eyes, "-it's Kreacher."

Sirius grinned even before the sleep had cleared from his eyes. "Very funny," he grumbled as he straightened up. He hooked Harry's neck in the crook of his arm and gave him a playful shake.

"Oy!" Harry protested with a laugh, but he let himself be pulled close to Sirius' side. Sirius rumpled his hair before releasing him. "Waiting up for me, were you?" Harry asked, pitching his voice to be nonchalant, but not really succeeding. Sirius smiled ruefully at him as he resettled himself against the headboard once more.

"I don't really like the thought of you alone with Snape," he admitted with a shrug. Harry nodded, but something must have shown on his face, because the smile abruptly vanished from Sirius' face. "Did something happen?"

Harry studied his hands for a second before meeting his godfather's worried gaze, and found he couldn't lie or even try to smooth over the truth. "I had another _Crucio_ attack," he admitted quietly. Sirius stiffened, making Harry shake his head quickly. "It wasn't Snape's fault—he was just trying to figure out how all of this-" he waved vaguely, "-happened and I reacted out of a habit, I guess." And because Sirius was still frowning, Harry explained what had followed. How he'd helped Snape—how he'd helped _himself_ this time, instead of being a victim.

A funny look stole over Sirius' face.

"What?"

Sirius smiled at him again, and this one was a good deal more solemn …though Harry wasn't certain how one of Sirius' smiles could be solemn.

"I keep wondering how you can only be fifteen."

"Not for much longer," Harry said with a grin.

"Nearly sixteen," Sirius corrected with a chuckle, "and more strength than I ever had at your age. More strength," he added soberly, "than I have even now."

"That isn't so," Harry said quickly, thinking of how much Sirius' influence had helped changed his own attitude toward Snape.

"You forced yourself to trust _Snape_," Sirius said quietly, as if that said it all, and perhaps it did. Except, Harry realized, that Sirius had no idea how much strength Harry had taken from him. And no matter what Sirius said, Harry had _needed_ that strength to pull himself out from behind that barrier in his mind.

Harry drew his knees up to his chest, and rested his chin on top, feeling all of a sudden subdued as he gazed at Sirius. "Snape told me to try to contact him with that amulet he gave me in the Infirmary. He didn't respond. Only one of the realities exists at a time." Harry pursed his lips. "Where ever _I_ am…"

Sirius rested his shoulders against the heavy oak headboard, eyeing Harry thoughtfully. "They came together once," he pointed out. "We'll simply have to find a way to make them stay together permanently."

Harry shook his head, letting his hands slide past his knees dejectedly. "But we don't even know how it happened." He swallowed. "Snape even used Legilimency after that first botched attempt-" Harry grimaced as Sirius' stiffened. "-and still we don't know anything."

Sirius leaned forward, purposefully meeting Harry's eyes. "We'll just have to find a way, Harry. There isn't any other option. You can't keep going from reality to reality, as you have been. It's frankly a wonder you haven't gone mad from lack of sleep yet."

Harry pressed his forehead tiredly into his knees. He gasped as Sirius squeezed his shoulder—it was still tender.

Sirius snatched his hand away. "What is it?"

Harry raised his head. "Snape and I were dueling. Still a bit sore," he said with a shrug. He was too tired to worry about a little bruised flesh.

"A bit?" Sirius returned with raised eyebrows. "I barely touched you."

Harry smiled a little, rueful. "Snape's taking this training business very seriously."

Sirius narrowed his eyes, but instead of lambasting Snape, he gestured to Harry's shirt. "Well?" he demanded, a tad impatiently. "Let me have a look, so we can get you straightened out."

"I'm all right," Harry protested, but Sirius simply crooked his fingers toward himself, so Harry, with a mountainous sigh, turned and shimmied out of his shirt. The walls' glow intensified at Sirius' order. Sirius held Harry's arms lightly as he silently looked over the damage.

"Why the hell didn't he give you any Bruise Salve?"

Harry shifted. "Er…well, he _did_ offer…"

"Why didn't you take it?!"

Harry twisted around. Sirius was glaring at him, his arms folded across his chest.

"Well…" Harry said as his cheeks glowed. "…I didn't want Snape to think I was a baby. I didn't think it was all _that_ bad-"

"You look like you've been trampled by a herd of hippogriffs!"

"I do?"

"Yes!" Sirius raked a hand through his dark hair, shaking his head in exasperation. He sighed. "Come along," he said, resignedly eyeing Harry's back again. "We'll probably have to use the entire jar…"

Harry groaned, and flopped back onto the bed, his arms spread wide. He winced as his back made contact with the covers. Sirius gave him a knowing look, so Harry sighed and picked himself up off the bed, gathering his crumpled shirt as he stood.

Sirius gave him a sidelong look as they walked out of Sirius' room together. "I wouldn't think any of less of you for asking for something for the pain."

Harry looked up at the quiet words. "Yeah, I know," he said, not looking away even as he flushed slightly. He didn't mention that he had intended to ask eventually. But Sirius smiled at him anyway, understanding.

He rumpled Harry's hair as they started down the stairs. "We'll find you something to eat while you're drowning in salve… and a flannel for your eyes. You've got circles."


	21. Drowning

**Chapter 21: Drowning**

Harry groaned softly as soon as he felt the shifting realities settle. He really didn't want to open his eyes, but since he couldn't pretend it hadn't happened, he lifted his head from where it was resting on the back of the sofa; Sirius' damp flannel slid into his open hand.

He opened his eyes.

Snape was staring at him, from across the room, sitting in the same chair that Harry had last seen him in.

"Did you activate your amulet?"

Harry nodded, not surprised at all by Snape's curt greeting. He gave his eyes a good scrub in an attempt to whisk away the exhaustion. Snape pursed his lips, his eyes sharp and intent as he stared at Harry. Harry gazed back at him warily, somehow knowing that whatever Snape was going to say next, he was not going to like it overly much.

"I will enter your mind again."

"Why?" The question was much wearier than Harry had intended it to be, but even though he tried, he couldn't summon enough irritation.

"To follow an earlier suspicion."

Harry sat up straight; there was something dark about Snape's eyes… _shifty_.

"You said all you could find in my head were dust bunnies." Harry made a face as he parroted back Snape's earlier words.

"I needed time to think," Snape returned, without a trace of remorse for his lie. Harry squelched his irritation quickly.

"What did you find, then?"

Snape didn't answer right away. His eyes were calculating though as they swept over Harry's erect posture. Harry dug his fingers into his knees. And just as he was about to snap at the professor, Snape finally dipped his head as if making a decision.

"Umbridge's curse opened up a new avenue of magic for you," he finally said.

"I don't understand." Surprisingly, it wasn't so very hard to admit. Snape scowled at him anyway.

"It will be easier to show you." Snape gestured for him to come toward him. Harry didn't move though.

"Show me what?"

Snape pursed his lips, looking aggrieved at Harry's audacity. "Any explanation will only confuse you," he said.

Harry's toes curled against his trainers as he tried to keep his temper in check. He brought in a slow breath through his nostrils and nodded—the important thing was fixing whatever had happened. So he pushed himself up, bunching the flannel in his fingers as he walked toward Snape.

Snape's eyes were narrowed, obviously suspicious of Harry's easy acquiescence, which almost made Harry smile. Had he time, it might have been fun to torture the professor with outright obedience from time to time.

Snape opened his mouth, but before he could even speak, Harry silently handed over his wand and sat cross-legged on the floor. Snape glared at him, but took the wand without comment, setting it on the table beside him.

"I trust," Snape said through acerbic lips, "that we will have no _incidents_ this time?"

"No," Harry bit out. "_We_ won't."

As if to test him, Snape raised his wand slowly, the tip pointed toward Harry's temple. Harry stayed perfectly still as the wand touched the side of his head, his eyes on Snape's.

"Legilimens."

The soft word licked against Harry's conscience, and this time there was nothing to stop its intrusion. No pain to invade his mind, no terror to send him to the darkest places within himself.

It was a curious sort of warmth, nothing like the earlier invasions… nothing like the attacks which Snape had termed _lessons_ either. The warmth was guiding him, carrying him along currents of thoughts; of feelings and emotions, cresting him as they dived through the memories.

And then he was descending. Snape was pushing him and he were crashing—splashing down to hover drenched and dripping in a place he could not recognize.

But he was alone here. Snape was gone.

And Harry _could_ sense a new magic inside himself—and somehow he knew it was responsible for everything that had happened since Dodgy exploded.

He was standing on a solid patch of dirt.

There was a great ocean in front of him—the vast body narrowing and surging toward him as a raging river. And where Harry stood, as if he was a towering mountain instead of a mere boy, the river parted and two perfect streams tumbled past on either side.

He turned, mesmerized, as he stared in the other direction. He could see the water stretching on forever, so close the streams were almost touching. Once, a little way down, they crossed and then they flowed farther and farther apart, until Harry could find no way for the two to ever meet again.

The streams were roaring in his ears now, his mind ringing with confusion and then he was almost certain he was drowning.

He gasped as Grimmauld Place materialized around him again. He tried to calm his breathing as his conscience swirled back into place.

"Wha-" Harry gave up trying to speak though when Snape handed him a glass of water; he gulped it greedily. He felt like he hadn't had anything to drink in days. He wiped the back of his hand sloppily over his lips, pulling the glass to his chest as his thoughts continued to tumble.

Despite what Snape had said, he still didn't understand.

"The world we knew was split in two," Snape said, his voice oddly restrained.

Harry closed his eyes, remembering the way the river had changed course; had curved so abruptly around him. "By _me_," he said, somehow certain of it.

He opened his eyes again to find Snape's face twisted with disgust. But as soon as Harry found his eyes, Snape's face melted into its familiar haughty lines. "Yes." He shook his head sharply when Harry would have interrupted him. "I do not know how, nor do I care at the moment, though it is most likely that Umbridge's curse created it. It is obvious that only you can set it to rights again."

"How?" Harry asked, leaving aside the other issues for the moment, and the questions that immediately formed about Umbridge and her curse. "You think I can manipulate the worlds, don't you?" he asked, not knowing how he'd understood as much.

Snape scowled at him, and then slowly, as if Harry had the intellect of a mountain troll, he explained. "I entered your mind to guide you to this new source of magic. Once there, you manipulated it yourself."

"You mean, you think I can use this to bring the two dimensions together?"

"Yes," Snape snapped impatiently.

Harry stared at him, his lips parted slightly in disbelief.

"Well?" Snape demanded, leaning forward slightly. "Do you wish to try it, or simply sit there like a slack-jawed Myvent for the remainder of the day?"

Harry nodded his head jerkily, the insult sliding over him effortlessly. He stood shakily and plucked his wand from the table where Snape had laid it earlier. He had to scrub his palm vigorously against his trousers before he was certain the holly wouldn't zip from his fingers when he tried to cast a spell.

Snape was already standing, and waiting—impatiently, of course—when Harry finally felt steady enough. He nodded at Snape's raised eyebrow and then with Snape's hissed spell, Harry was once again staring at the broken river.

Cursing Umbridge, and her reverberating curse, Harry knelt down between the meandering streams. He took a deep breath and plunged his hands into the water, hissing in surprise at the different temperatures. His left hand was rapidly losing all feeling in the icy water. His right hand gave no protest, its own temperature as soothing as a long soak in a tub.

Harry closed his eyes, focusing as Snape had ordered him to do, trying to see the river again in his mind—trying to see that the two should be one. And he imagined he could feel the water rising over his wrists, sloshing his shoes as it roiled in two great waves into the empty space between them.

In waves and waves, the water rolled, until Harry struggled under its weight; gulping for air, gasping for breath as the weight of the two streams submerged him.

And then with a huge gulp of dry air, Harry was thrashing against the floor in the sitting room.

"Harry?"

Harry looked up as the world righted itself again. Sirius was by his side, gazing down at him with confusion.

Snape towered above them.

As Harry struggled to sit up, Sirius slid an arm under Harry's shoulders and helped him sit up.

"What's happened?" Sirius asked, searching Harry's face.

"It worked," Harry breathed.

Sirius looked confusedly between Harry and Snape. "What worked?"

"The two realities…I pulled them together," Harry said, feeling dazed by it and unable to believe it had actually worked. Even as he explained it to Sirius, it sounded completely impossible, especially as Harry really didn't understand how it had happened. How could he fix a rip in reality with some sort of new magic within himself…?

After a moment of trying to explain, Harry found that he really couldn't. How could he explain that he was manipulating _planes of existence_? Sirius—and Snape—looked as bewildered as Harry felt.

And then both Snape and Harry were gasping in pain. Harry clapped a hand to his scar. And as he did, Harry felt the streams shifting.

"No!" he shouted, plunging his hands into the warm water, even though he was still aware of being in the sitting room. But the warm stream slipping away—he could _feel_ the water draining through his fingers even as he watched Sirius wink out of existence.

And even as he heard Snape raising his voice, Harry concentrated on the two streams again. He closed his eyes and focused all his energy on merging the two. Sirius' stream was veering off, away from Snape's in a way that seemed more deliberate than it should.

But Harry didn't care. He poured himself into the magic—he could feel it filling his entire body—and dragged Sirius' stream back on course.

He could see Sirius in front of him again, but he was slipping—faster now.

Harry pulled harder, insisting the streams do as he bid.

When he opened his eyes again, he was flat on his back and Sirius was peering down at him, the anxiety sharp on his face.

"It worked," Harry whispered. He blinked in confusion when Sirius shook his head. "What's wrong?" he asked, but Sirius turned to Snape instead.

"Whatever he's doing, he's not doing it again," he said in a hard voice; his jaw was set. Harry's heavy breathing echoed in the small room.

Snape didn't immediately sneer at Sirius; he had an odd look on his face. But it passed almost instantly, and he finally favored Sirius with a sneer. "Perhaps you should attempt to persuade _Potter_ of that."

Sirius considered him for a moment, before turning back to Harry. "I don't know how you're making the two planes come back together," he said quickly, his fingers squeezing Harry's, "but your life signs were almost nonexistent for a moment. And they're wavering even now."

Harry didn't understand.

"But you're here… I did it."

But even as he said it, Sirius was fading.

"Harry…"

And then he was gone.

"No!" Harry gasped. He struggled to sit up.

"Do not move," Snape said harshly. Harry wasn't inclined to listen, but his limbs betrayed him, and he only managed to prop himself up against one of the chairs.

"What happened?" he croaked. "Why didn't it work?"

Snape bared his teeth, looking furious. "You disrupted the flow of natural time." He grated his teeth together now. "I had suspected it, and now we have proof."

"Proof of what?" Harry panted, but his breathing was slowly beginning to even out.

"You have not figured it out yet?" Snape demanded.

Harry shook his head slowly.

"You have no idea," Snape went on, his voice dark and unpleasant, "why you cannot force Black and me to stay together?"

"The flow of natural time has been corrupted," Harry repeated Snape's words.

"When the house-elf exploded, _you_ diverted the course all of our lives," Snape corrected.

"But what does that _mean_?" Harry demanded, exasperated and more anxious than he cared to admit.

"It means, _Potter_," Snape said coldly, "that one of us was meant to die, and you stopped it."

Harry tried to comprehend what Snape had just said, but he couldn't. "I don't understand… How can-"

"It amazes me that you can be so consistently stupid," Snape snapped, drawing himself up so that he was quite taller than Harry had noticed him to be in the last few days. "It is really quite simple, so _do_ _try_ to pay attention." Harry nodded, not hearing the sarcasm at all. "Somehow Umbridge's curse opened a new channel of magic in you, and instead of allowing events to unfold as they should, you interfered-"

"But I didn't-"

"You did," Snape hissed. "It was obviously an unconscious use of the magic. And now it seems that as long as both of are alive, the realities cannot be merged." He sneered, his face uglier than Harry had ever seen it. "Unconsciously or not, you risked destroying an entire world instead of letting Black die as he was meant to."

"No…" Sirius wasn't meant to die! He hadn't stopped it. Harry shook his head wildly. "No, that can't be right."

Snape smiled grimly. "Then by all means, continue on with your efforts until the realities bury _you_ instead."

"There has to be another way."

"Do you have any ideas?"

Harry stared at him, his limbs beginning to go numb. It wasn't possible. _It wasn't_.

With a frustrated shake of his head, Snape went to the Floo, and Harry watched through a haze of lost thoughts as he muttered several incantations. The Floo sprang to life a moment later. Snape stalked back over to him. He shoved a vial in Harry's face.

"Take it after you arrive in the other reality," he ordered brusquely. Harry took the vial, without looking at it, his mind still reeling. "It will allow you to sleep without ever entering the deepest part of the sleep cycle, which may prevent you from switching planes," Snape continued on flatly, as if he were reciting a list of potions ingredients.

"But-"

"You seem to thrive on being _coddled_, Potter, and nothing else," Snape snarled, his face suddenly livid. He made an aggressive shooing motion toward the stairs. "So get out of my sight, and go back to your mutt of a godfather."

Harry, feeling almost as if Snape had slapped him again, scrambled to his feet. With his vial clutched to his chest, he stumbled up the stairs.

He didn't lie down when he reached Sirius' room; he sat on the bed, his knees drawn up to his chest and tried to stop his heart from racing.

_This couldn't be. _

He'd disrupted reality. It was his fault. _And Sirius was supposed to be dead._

His heart was trying to pound itself out of his chest.

He had to fix it.

_He couldn't fix it. _

And Snape knew it. His jeering words made Harry want to sick up.

Harry dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until his sockets rang with multi-colored stars. The pain felt good. Sharp and real.

Until shame crept through his belly—and spread like a disease through his chest.

He did need Sirius. _Needed him too much._ So much that he'd destroyed reality.

He'd never needed any one before.

But even Harry couldn't let that lie slip unhindered into his thoughts. He'd always _wanted_ someone to care for him—the same way Ron's and Hermione's parents cared for them. And the instant Sirius had offered him a place to live—a home—he'd wanted it more than anything else.

He'd almost had it.

Harry let the shame wiggle through him, until he was too exhausted to sit up any longer.

He stared at the crack in the ceiling for a long time, and understood for the first time, why Snape hated him.

He _was_ selfish. Had obviously always been.

Harry closed his eyes, and sought the magic within himself. It was easy to find it by himself, now that he knew it was there. He was standing in the icy water. He carefully stepped over the barren patch of land to the other gently sloping stream, as if he was walking across a quickly-crumbling bridge.

He could feel the disorientation as it waved through him, but this time, somehow, he could control it. He could slow the feeling of uneasiness and allow the new reality to settle over him like a worn old blanket.

He opened his eyes, and just as he knew he would be, Sirius was sitting on the bed, waiting for him.

Sirius sighed deeply, the relief making him look older somehow. "Are you all right?"

Harry wanted to nod; it would be easier to pretend. But since Sirius was studying him so carefully, Harry knew his godfather wasn't likely to believe him. So instead of answering, he sat up, leaned against the headboard and closed his eyes.

"Snape gave me a potion to keep me from entering a deep sleep." He was too tired to explain how Snape had retrieved the potion, and Sirius didn't ask.

"Let's get you to bed then, and see if it works."

Harry could feel the mattress shift as his godfather stood.

"Harry?" Sirius questioned worriedly when Harry made no move to lie down. Harry didn't answer that either. Sirius put the back of his hand against Harry's cheek, as if to feel for fever.

"I can't make them go back together again."

_All the king's horses and all the king's men…_ The rhyme marched through Harry's brain, leaving Harry wondering where he might have heard it.

"Humpty Dumpty," he murmured, opening his eyes. He blinked. Sirius was leaning in close, his grey eyes dark with anxiety.

"Harry, I really think you ought to sleep. You're not making any sense-"

"Should I be?" Harry asked, his voice suddenly bitter as he straightened up. "I tried it, Sirius, but I couldn't do it. It didn't work, no matter how hard I tried-"

"I know," Sirius said calmly. "We'll try it again when you're stronger-"

"No," Harry said forcefully, swinging his legs off the bed and standing up so that he was staring at Sirius straight on. "You don't understand. It can't work." He pressed his fists into his thighs. "It can't work with both of you alive."

"Harry, I don't-"

"Snape explained it to me," Harry said quietly, his breaths coming faster now. "You can't both be there." Harry could no longer swallow properly. "One of you is meant to be dead. And I stopped it."

Sirius stared at him. "Harry," he began gently as he put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Don't," Harry said hoarsely, dipping his shoulder out of reach. Sirius took a step back, a bewildered look on his face. "It was supposed to be _you_," Harry rasped. "You were supposed to die, and I ripped the world apart so that I could keep you."

Sirius looked no closer to understanding.

"And now nothing will bring them back together again!" Harry was close to shouting now, furious with Sirius for reasons beyond rationality. "Snape was right," he went on mindlessly. "All those times he called me selfish, he was right."

"Harry-" Sirius tried again, his features pale now as he reached out for Harry, but Harry jerked himself away.

"I don't need to be coddled," he cried. "No matter what Snape says, _I_ _don't_!" He shook his head roughly. "Just leave me alone."

Sirius swallowed; twice. He slid his hands into his pockets and nodded a little. "All right," he agreed quietly. "You're welcome to sleep in here if you want to try Snape's potion." He gestured toward the door with his head. "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

He left quickly, his head bowed.

Harry sat heavily on the bed as soon as Sirius rounded the door. Shame clawed at him as he listened to Sirius treading softly down the stairs.

--

Harry stared at Snape's potion for a long time. But the urge to sleep was gone—his exhaustion completely overshadowed by his shame. He couldn't believe he'd treated Sirius like that. But Snape's words were taunting him, stopping him from going downstairs to apologize. He didn't need to be coddled—he _didn't_ need Sirius to soothe his frayed nerves. He'd done without for years-

Harry swallowed as his eyes fell on that photo of him and Sirius. Sirius grinning out at him. Caring about him. Caring _for_ him. Even if Harry didn't need to be reassured, Sirius didn't deserve to be treated the way Harry had treated him.

With his heart stomping in his chest, Harry stuffed Snape's potion in his pocket and stood. He descended the stairs slowly.

Sirius was sitting in one of the chairs, his hunched back to Harry. He looked like he was nursing a headache.

Harry stopped in the doorway, his stomach lurching painfully.

Sirius's head came up, even though Harry hadn't made a sound. Sirius twisted in his chair, and smiled a little, which felt a bit like a Bludger to Harry's stomach.

"Feeling better?"

Harry nodded mutely. He tried to clear his throat a little. "I'm sorry I…" He glanced away. "I didn't mean to snap at you." He didn't really know what else to say, or how to explain what Snape had said to him.

Harry looked up as the chair's springs groaned. Sirius was frowning as he stood. He gazed at Harry's dejected form for a long moment.

"Come here," he said quietly. Harry bit his lip, but moved forward. He stopped just in front of Sirius, unable to meet his godfather's eyes.

Silently, Sirius wrapped his arms securely around Harry. "There is _nothing_ wrong with you wanting to be loved, Harry," he said after a quiet moment. "Even if you're sixteen," he continued, deflecting Harry's protest. "Every person wants to be loved. And I _do_ love you, Harry."

His throat burning, Harry tried desperately to push down the childish tears.

"Would you call me selfish for needing you?" Sirius asked. Harry couldn't answer so he just shook his head. "You are not selfish, Harry. You're perfectly normal, I promise you."

Harry gulped a huge rush of air against Sirius' shoulder. But Sirius didn't let go, and Harry finally gave in and allowed himself to return the hug. Sirius' arms tightened, and slowly, Snape's accusations began to melt away.

When they finally broke apart, Sirius took Harry's arm and guided him to the settee. He took Harry's face in his hands; Harry didn't resist. "Do you actually know for sure that what Snape said is true?"

"He said-"

"I know what he said," Sirius interrupted, "but do you know for certain he's right? That I was supposed to die?" His questions were even and measured, and Harry found himself considering the question.

"When I realized that something was wrong in that split-second before Dodgy exploded, I was terrified that you would be hurt," Harry finally admitted. "It makes sense that if I had this new magic sitting in me, waiting to manifest itself somehow, that that's how I'd use it."

Sirius nodded, releasing his hold. "It does, but that doesn't mean it happened that way."

A spark of hope ignited inside Harry's chest.

Sirius caught the look, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. "Did you really think I'd accept Snape's explanation on this?" Sirius shook his head, cutting off Harry's answer. "You are not going to lose me, Harry," he said fiercely. "Even if what Snape says is true, we will find a way to get around it. I am not going to accept the inevitability of my death, even if I _was_ meant to die in that explosion."

Harry nodded shakily as Sirius put an arm round Harry's shoulder. And despite the lingering of Snape's caustic words, Harry accepted the comfort.


	22. Breaking the Surface

**Chapter 22: Breaking the Surface**

Harry sat up and rubbed his eyes with his fists a few times. "How long was I asleep?" he asked groggily.

"Five hours."

Harry sighed as he sat up.

"How do you feel?" Sirius asked. Harry shrugged. It hadn't been a particularly restful sleep. Sirius dropped onto the mattress next to Harry, heaving an identical sigh. "Do you feel rested at _all_?" he asked, narrowing his eyes as he studied Harry's face.

"I feel like I didn't sleep enough," Harry admitted, "but I do feel better. Too bad Snape didn't think of it sooner."

Sirius didn't answer; he was gazing at Harry, his lips pressed together.

Harry's eyebrows came together as he considered his godfather worriedly. "Are you all right?" he asked, scooting forward.

Sirius' face softened. "Just thinking," he reassured with a smile which was full of affection. Harry smiled back at him and slouched a little, resting his chin in his propped palm.

"I don't think it'll make much difference if I try to merge the two realities from this one," he murmured, returning to the topic they'd been discussing earlier.

"It may not."

"But we need to explore every possibility," Harry finished Sirius' sentence.

"Come on," Sirius encouraged, standing up and offering his godson a hand. Harry took it and allowed himself to be pulled off the bed.

"Snape seemed really angry before I came here."

Sirius glanced at him as they made their way down the stairs. "He always seems angry to me," he said reasonably. Harry shrugged, a smile playing on his lips.

"Not as much as he was in class." He scratched at the back of his head as they finally reached the sitting room. "Sometimes, I think he's almost on the brink of being decent."

"Was he angry because he thinks you saved me?" Sirius' voice was neutral, but Harry could easily tell he was irritated, just by the way the skin around his eyes tensed a little.

Harry shook his head; he didn't think that was it—not precisely. But since it didn't make much sense, it probably wasn't all that important.

"I just wanted to warn you that he might not be in the best of moods," Harry explained.

Sirius' grey eyed sparkled with amusement. "I always assume that's the case with Snape. Are you ready?" he asked when Harry smiled at the logic in Sirius' statement.

Harry slid his wand out of his pocket, and nodded. He closed his eyes, dipped down deep within himself. He found the flowing streams easily, still winding along their two separate paths. He knelt down, and just as he had before, by sheer force of will, he dragged the two streams to fill the empty space where he stood.

The water roiled, threatening, but Harry pulled his mind away before it could begin to drown him. But even as he opened his eyes and saw Snape, he could feel the merged stream trying to pull him under.

Snape halted in mid-stride, looking as if he had been caught in the middle of pacing.

The confusion on his face was quickly replaced by a frown. He plucked a vial from an inside pocket and thrust it at Harry.

"What is it?" Harry asked, struggling to catch his breath as he tried to keep the water from slipping away.

"To keep you from entering a deep sleep," Snape told him quickly. When Harry stared, he snarled, "Take it now!"

Sirius took the vial from Harry's fingers. Harry turned his head toward his godfather, as a bead of sweat dripped past his eyebrow.

"He has to-"

Sirius ignored Snape's raging splutter and uncorked the slim vial. He took Harry's arm in a firm grip and led him over to the settee. Harry obeyed the pressure, sinking onto the cushion even as he continued to focus on the streams.

"Drink," Sirius said quietly. Harry nodded jerkily as the streams protested and since Sirius seemed to understand that Harry needed to concentrate, he held the vial to Harry's lips. Harry slugged it took his other arm swiftly, just as Harry's eyes drifted closed.

Sirius eased him deftly onto his back, using an elbow to slide a tattered cushion under Harry's head. As soon as Harry looked comfortable, Sirius pulled his wand out and performed a diagnostic. His heart rate was slowing back to a normal rate, and his breaths were settling. Satisfied that his godson was indeed all right, he turned to face Snape, who, by either miracle or cruelty, was still standing near the Floo.

"What did you think you were going to accomplish," Sirius said tightly, "by telling Harry I was supposed to die?"

Snape smiled in that thin way that Sirius hated so much.

"I did not think you believed in keeping things from him."

Sirius forced his anger aside. "You don't know that I was meant to die. _Do_ you?" he demanded when Snape continued to stare coldly at him.

"It should be quite obvious that we cannot coexist together, even to _you_."

"Even if he did stop me from dying, what did you want him to do? Kill me himself?"

He would have expected Snape to at least make a show of amusement at that, but Snape's face went very still. "I have no delusions about the outcome," he said stiffly.

Sirius stared at Snape, shocked into silence by the revelation that Snape expected his life to be sacrificed in his stead. He could think of no response so he shifted the conversation back to where it was more comfortable.

"Before we make a plan, we'll have to be certain that it was me," he said. Snape raised an eyebrow, his eyes full of disdain.

"He was certainly not trying to save me."

"It is possible," Sirius said blandly as he shrugged a little. "If he could sense you were about to die, he would have wanted to save you if he could."

Snape made a derisive noise.

"Harry's more compassionate than you realize," Sirius said, his voice very soft as he gazed at his godson. He brushed Harry's fringe out of his eyes, his thumb lingering against the scar. "Sometimes to his own detriment…"

Sirius looked up, realizing he was talking more to himself than he was to Snape. Snape was staring at him, his expression stony. Sirius turned his eyes back to Harry, as he absently stroked through Harry's fringe, wishing as he often did that he could have somehow taken James' and Lily's places.

"There may be a way to prove I am correct."

Sirius looked up again; Snape was scowling down at Harry.

"Entering his mind again, you mean?"

Snape nodded brusquely. His fingers were tensed around his wand, but he didn't bring it up, and after a moment, Sirius realized that he was waiting for permission. So Sirius nodded, the movement hesitant—the thought of Snape using Legilimency on Harry again made his skin crawl.

"I'm coming with you," he said, halting Snape's wand arm as it lifted.

Snape's wand hovered in the air above Harry; he looked furious when Sirius resolutely met his gaze, and then Snape's lip lifted in a sneer.

"I have no plans to lie about what I find," he said scornfully. Very deliberately, Sirius pulled his fingers from Snape's sleeve and gripped Harry's hand instead; his eyes were still locked with Snape's.

Snape looked between their intertwined hands and Sirius' face. Disgust flitted across his harsh features, but then he moved his wand with a sharp swish. He pointed it at Sirius' head, uttering the same spell he'd used in the infirmary, and Sirius felt his conscience merging with Snape's.

And then… with Harry's.

Snape, more skilled at this than Sirius had ever really considered, guided them easily through the wide passages of Harry's mind. They came to an abrupt halt with a distinct sound of splashing water.

Harry was waiting for them.

And even though Sirius knew he wasn't really there, and in fact these were just pictures that Harry's mind was conjuring up for them, he frowned.

Harry was sitting in a shallow stream of water, leaning back on his palms and gazing upwards.

Looking peaceful and content. Looking too much like he belonged there.

His smiled as Sirius approached.

_Hi._ The single word vibrated with cheer. _I was hoping you'd come._

_You've been waiting here? _Snape's question was filled with suspicion. His gaze swept over the single stream. _Are you keeping the realities together?_

Harry switched his gaze to Snape, and shrugged. _I'm not trying to. _

Sirius gave Harry a hand-up before Snape could say something scathing. He studied his godson's face for signs of distress. _What usually happens when you try to keep the two streams together?_

_I try to keep from drowning. _

Snape's eyes were more alert as studied the water surrounding them. _The water barely covers your ankles._

_It's usually much deeper… and faster._

Snape turned back to eye Harry; Sirius smiled as Harry simply gazed back at the other man.

Snape narrowed his eyes._ Attempt to separate the streams._

Harry glanced at Sirius, who after a slight hesitation, nodded. Harry's eyes seemed to focus on nothing, as far as Sirius could tell, and then after a long moment of silence, save the gurgling stream, Harry shook his head, his shoulders slumping a little.

_I can't. _

_Explain. _

Harry waved his fingers between Sirius and Snape._ Your minds are bonded. I can feel both realities and I can sense how to separate them but your bond won't alloq it _

_Could you separate them if we were not? _

Sirius wanted to snap at Snape not to berate Harry, but Harry didn't even seem to notice. He just sighed, and once again morphed into that same focus.

As his feet began to move of their own accord, Sirius looked down, startled. The shallow stream was burbling upward, shifting ever so slightly. Until, within the larger stream, there were two distinct bodies of water, though they weren't separate. Not really.

Snape narrowed his eyes and then nodded curtly. Harry took that as some sort of sign and relaxed his tensed shoulders. The water seemed to melt again, and then it was lapping gently around Sirius' ankles once more.

Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry_. You are controlling it in your sleep._

Harry looked confusedly at his own feet, which were firmly submerged in the water. _I can't stay asleep forever_.

Sirius stepped toward him. _But if you can control them while you're sleeping, maybe that can translate somehow when you're awake._

_It will not be that simple, Black._ Snape was glaring at both of them.

Harry scowled at him. _It's better than the alternative._

It was obvious Snape didn't agree. Harry's frown intensified.

Sirius stepped closer to his godson_. We'll keep trying… figure out a way to make it work. _

Snape's disdain could be felt all through their shared conscience. _Potter is a deplorable student._

Harry's jaw flexed; Sirius put a hand on his arm. Harry glanced at him, the warmth on his godfather's face making the tense muscles along his jaw relax. He turned back to Snape.

_Do you think you can help me learn how to do it?_

Snape narrowed his eyes suspiciously again. He looked in between Harry and Sirius. _I will make the attempt_, he finally agreed, as if making a great concession. It was very difficult for Sirius to keep silent.

And he expected Harry to relax then, but Harry was worrying his lower lip between his teeth instead.

Sirius wished they had some privacy._ What's the matter?_

Harry pulled his teeth back from his lip_. If I can keep the realities together… then it means that you weren't…_

Sirius deliberately didn't look at Snape as he put a hand on Harry's shoulder. If _you can keep the realities together, it won't matter._

Harry nodded jerkily.

_You may fail. _

Harry's jaw trembled. Sirius glared at Snape. _We should make sure you know what you're talking about then._

The superior look on Snape's face didn't change in the slightest. He gestured pointedly toward the vast ocean in the distance. _We will have to go back to the beginning._

Harry and Sirius turned toward it, though Harry hesitated. _I…_ He shook his head though, unable to finish the thought.

Hoping that Snape would keep his mouth shut, Sirius took Harry's hand and gave it a tug. Harry's feet moved reluctantly, and Sirius let his fingers go as soon as Harry stepped close to his side. Moving more slowly than Snape probably appreciated, Sirius and Harry began walking downstream, toward the ocean.

--

Potter was walking so close to his mutt, that Severus wondered why Black didn't just carry him. He glared at them as they trudged.

_The potion will not last forever, you realize. _

Black looked over his shoulder with a frown. And then in his typical, unbearably cosseting manner, he put his arm round Potter's shoulders. At least it got Potter to move faster. Black kept his arm firmly in place as they continued on their way.

The gentle fluttering motions of the water as it lapped against Severus' ankles grew in tempo as they neared the great body of water. The waves began to push at the travelers, trying to force them back. Potter and Black bowed their heads slightly, hunching their shoulders and pushed through with unexpected resolve—Potter hadn't even needed any prodding this time.

Potter stumbled more than once as they surged forward, and Black was there each time to catch his elbow before he fell. Severus scowled, deciding that if the mutt would allow Potter to fall just once, perhaps the clumsy boy would extend a greater effort to keep himself upright.

As a particularly large wave crashed toward him, Severus found himself drenched in its wake. He sputtered as he dragged in a long draught of air. Potter and Black were choking on water as well. He smiled grimly and snapped at them to move along. They were almost there.

_We're going as fast as we can!_

Severus gave Black his best sneer, but didn't bother to respond. Black shook his head and took Potter's hand once again, but this time didn't let go. The rest of the short journey was spent trying not to be towed under, though the river never did get as deep as Potter had insisted it usually did.

All three were out of breath and panting heavily by the time the waters calmed again. The water slowly became shallow again and finally, Severus dropped to his knees only seconds after Potter and Black.

Potter was trying to catch his breath as he pointed directly in front of him. _It started here._

Severus had no idea how Potter would know that, but he didn't waste air arguing.

Black looked bewildered. _What are we looking for?_

Severus had no idea, but he gave nothing away as his eyes searched the sandy ocean floor which dropped steadily for several meters until Severus could no longer see the bottom.

_Harry, what are you doing?_

Severus' head snapped up at the concerned question. Potter was crawling toward the sloping drop-off, his fingers combing the sand.

_There's something here. _

Potter jerked back, his face frozen in shock. Black scrambled forward—his face froze as well.

Severus stood and walked over to where they knelt, curiosity overwhelming several scathing remarks he wished to make.

A piece of dark fabric was anchored in the sand; its edge floated daintily along the waters' surface.

_Ah_. Severus crouched down, understanding that this was their answer, buried deep within Potter's subconscious.

Feeling a certain smugness, Severus plunged his hands into the sand and began digging. Neither Potter nor Black helped, though Black did silently wrap his arm round Potter's shoulders again as Potter watched, pale-faced.

Severus grit his teeth and continued at his task. He didn't even pause as the curve of a neck was exposed. Potter made a choking sound; Severus ignored him. He could feel the rise of a nose… the dip of two eye sockets, just below the surface of the water.

_Don't look. _

Black's soft words to Potter came just as Severus swept the last layer of sand from the entombed face.

Snape's lips parted, his face draining of all color as he stared.

Beneath the gentle waves, his own eyes stared back at him.


	23. Onward to the Sea

**Chapter 23: Onward to the Sea**

Sirius watched Snape push himself abruptly to his feet. Snape stumbled back several steps; his eyes were glued to the seabed. Sirius swallowed the rush of pity for the other man, his arm tightening round Harry's shoulder even as he continued to gaze at Snape. Snape must have realized that he was staring in slack-jawed horror at the distorted face; he turned sharply away, where his eyes connected with Sirius'.

Snape's jaw pulsed, and then he said in the most scathing tone Sirius had ever heard from him, "Well, it seems you win again, Black."

Sirius, unprepared for that particular sentiment, had no ready retort.

"_Win?_" Harry echoed.

Sirius glanced down at his godson, who was twisting slightly against his side. Certain that the distorted features beneath the surface of the water would disturb him, Sirius stood, pulling Harry with him.

"It wasn't me," Sirius said quietly, once they were no longer turned toward the submerged body. Harry's brows furrowed. He opened his mouth, but closed it again before he spoke. He glanced at Snape, who was scowling fiercely now. Harry turned his eyes away, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Can we get out of here?" he asked, his voice a little hoarse; he wasn't looking at either of them.

"Of course," Sirius answered automatically. Harry stuffed his fists into his pockets; his eyes fixed on the water lapping at his calves. Beginning to worry over his godson's odd behavior, Sirius looked pointedly at Snape. Snape narrowed his eyes, looking even angrier than he had a moment ago. And without allowing Sirius any time to prepare, Snape ripped the two of them from Harry's mind.

Sirius came back to himself in a whirl of breathlessness and disorientation. Too exhausted even to glare at Snape for the abrupt departure from Harry's mind, Sirius slumped against the arm of the settee.

He struggled for something to say to the other man. "Snape…"

Snape's lip curled. "This changes nothing."

Sirius watched wearily as Snape turned his back and stalked out of the room. Glad that Harry was still asleep beside him, Sirius closed his eyes, and tried not to see Snape's glassy stare beneath the ripples.

--

"Sirius."

Sirius grunted a little, trying to ignore the pressure against his ribs.

"Sirius… you're crushing my legs…" A persistent poke this time, and Sirius opened his eyes.

"What...?" he mumbled, blinking tiredly at his godson.

"My legs," Harry said pointedly. "You're lying on them."

Sirius glanced down. Realizing that he was all but sprawled across Harry's lower legs, he shifted aside quickly. "Sorry…"

Harry drew his legs out from under Sirius as he sat up. "I was trying not to wake you," he said, not sounding groggy at all, "but my legs were starting to go numb." He rubbed absently at one of his calves.

Sirius massaged his eyes, trying to bring himself more fully awake. "It's all right," he said through a yawn; he hadn't realized he was so tired. "I didn't mean to fall asleep." He eyed Harry. "You've been awake for awhile?"

Harry shrugged and stretched his legs out. "I've been trying to work out how we're going to put the two realities back to rights. It seems the only thing to do is to try and force the streams together again."

"The last time you tried that, you nearly collapsed," Sirius pointed out. "We had to use Snape's Sleeping Potion."

"I know…" Harry stared at the faded denim at his knees. "But it's probably just a matter of practicing. And I do have some control of the streams when I'm sleeping-"

Sirius leaned forward, catching Harry's eye, since it seemed Harry was doing his best not to allow him to. "We have no reason to believe it will work. And you might do more harm that way," he said, thinking his argument was perfectly reasonable. But Harry shook his head.

"What could I possibly do that would be worse than what I've already done?" There was a note of bitterness in Harry's voice.

"It might harm _you_, Harry," Sirius stressed, leaning forward just a little. Harry didn't respond. "Harry," Sirius said quietly, hoping to catch Harry's attention, but his godson didn't look up. "What is it? Something about finding Snape buried in the sand upset you…"

Harry looked up sharply. "Didn't it upset _you_?"

Sirius furrowed his brow; he didn't think Harry meant finding out that Snape was the one who should have died. "That you saved Snape?" Sirius frowned when Harry nodded. "Harry," he began, trying not to make his tone admonishing, "Snape and I have hated one another for years, but I certainly don't begrudge him life-"

"That's not what I mean…"

Sirius tilted his head to the side as he studied Harry. "What, then?" he finally asked. Harry glanced briefly toward the fireplace.

"I don't remember wanting to save him," Harry explained. Sirius wasn't sure what to say in response, so he simply nodded. Harry forehead was lined with stress, his eyebrows knit together. "It made sense, when I thought it was you that I wanted to save."

It took all of Sirius' willpower to keep his arm from circling Harry's shoulders; Harry was holding himself very stiffly. "I can only think you acted instinctively," Sirius said, and was pleased that Harry seemed to be listening. "You have a big heart," Sirius continued quietly, reminding his godson of something he'd said when Harry had rescued him from the Dementors.

Harry's mouth softened a little, obviously remembering the same. Sirius smiled.

"And I don't think it was a matter of choosing Snape over me," he said firmly, sensing that was a bigger part of what was worrying Harry. "Snape was obviously the one who needed to be saved."

The quiet words seemed to calm Harry; he nodded slowly, but he didn't relax completely. He was very interested in his hands again. Sirius gave up the struggle and gently nudged Harry's chin up. He didn't ask again what was wrong, and Harry sighed a little.

He shifted his weight against the cushions. "I experimented a little…while you were sleeping."

"To merge the realities?" Sirius asked sharply; Harry nodded. Sirius ignored his instinct to scold Harry for that; he frowned instead. Harry grimaced.

"Not enough to make me feel sick, like I did earlier," he said, sounding defensive to Sirius' ears.

"You shouldn't be trying it at all," Sirius retorted, giving in to his instinct after all. "Not without someone to make certain you don't harm yourself."

Harry was frowning now as well. "I'm going to have to do it eventually."

Trying rather unsuccessfully to keep his worry from morphing completely into irritation, Sirius tried a steadying breath. "Harry, not even Snape believes you can merge the realities that way-"

"I have to try," Harry interrupted forcefully. "We can't just leave things as they are."

"Of course not," Sirius agreed, "but we will have to find a way that doesn't put you in so much danger."

"How?" Harry demanded. "I have to make the realities fit back together. Force them back together, since Snape isn't supposed to be here."

"You cannot force them back together," Sirius said, leaning forward again, and capturing Harry's shoulders. "Listen to me," he said firmly when Harry opened his mouth again. "Whatever we decide to do, we do it together. Even Snape should have a say in this."

Harry's face twisted with confusion. "What do you mean? Snape wants to fix the realities just as much as we do."

Sirius sighed, unsure how to explain how Snape might feel; or even if he _should_ explain what Snape had said to him.

Sirius shook his head to clear it; Snape's lifeless face had taken up residence again. "If there is a way to fix this, we will decide together, all right?"

"Snape isn't here…"

Sirius fingers pressed into Harry's shoulders; Harry closed his mouth. "You are not to try to fix this alone, Harry," Sirius said quietly, the authority in his tone surprising both of them—if Harry's slightly widened eyes were anything to measure by. Sirius kept his gaze fixed on his godson anyway, raising his eyebrows to emphasize the words. "And in the mean time, we'll try to find a solution that doesn't risk you."

_And one that doesn't include Snape's face haunting me… _

The stray thought surprised Sirius, but he didn't try to push it away.

He wondered what Harry was thinking as sat there, staring at him. It was clear that his godson didn't want to agree with the mandate; Sirius could practically see the arguments swarming in Harry's eyes, and he wore an expression so like James, when James had been trying not to argue with an adult, that Sirius felt a stabbing moment of grief.

But the expression faded as Sirius pushed the emotions away. Harry finally sighed and nodded. "All right," he conceded. He pursed his lips in thought. "Do you think it will make sense to try it from Snape's side though? And pull your reality into his…"

Sirius and Harry plotted a strategy. And after awhile, inside Sirius' tangled thoughts, Snape's empty face morphed into James and Lily, pleading with him not to lose their baby.

--

Harry rose from the settee slowly, once he realized that he was alone in the sitting room. Snape wasn't there. Harry sighed, deciding Snape was probably in the kitchen. Harry found him there, a moment later as he pushed the door open without a sound.

Snape was sitting at the dusty table, his face pressed into a palm, propped up by a slightly quivering elbow; a vial of cheery yellow liquid was clutched in his other hand.

"Professor?"

Snape didn't look up. "Leave," he ordered in a low voice.

Harry stepped into the kitchen, and let the door close behind him. Snape looked up sharply. His eyes narrowed, but Harry didn't allow him to speak. "We need to find a way to bring the realities together," he tried to explain. "Sirius thought you might have some ideas-"

"Yes," Snape interrupted coldly; his thumb caressed the vial. "Of course he did." His lips thinned. "The solution is a simple one, of course."

Harry stared at his professor. "I… don't understand, sir."

A dark chuckle escaped Snape's lips; the sound was so menacing, Harry felt chilled by it. "It does not require your understanding," Snape said softly; he turned his eyes back to his little vial.

"If we're going to merge the realities-"

Snape's raised his eyes slowly. They were full of hatred. "_You_ are not going to do anything."

"But we need-"

Snape pushed himself to his feet abruptly, topping the chair to the floor. "Did you hear what I said?" he demanded, coming around the table. "I will fix it. Go back to your godfather!"

"Whatever you've thought of," Harry said with exasperation, "I need to know so that I can help-"

"You cannot help. It has nothing to do with you."

"I caused this, _remember_?"

"Yes," Snape said with enough venom to make Harry take a step back, "your hero complex has destroyed the world we knew."

Harry sucked in cold air through his teeth. He couldn't remember wanting to save Snape, but he had. And for reasons that Harry would probably never understand, Snape hated him for it.

"But I saved you," he said quietly. He hadn't meant to say it, and as soon as he did, he wished he could call the words back.

"My life is not yours to save!"

Snape swept a teacup viciously from the table, making Harry flinch. The smashing china punctuated his words, but all Harry could hear were the words as they reverberated in his ears.

…_is not yours to save… is not… __**is**__…_

Harry's eyes flicked back to the sunny potion, where Snape's knuckles were straining around it. Snape's gaze traveled there as well, and then as Harry's eyes snapped back to Snape's face, the black eyes pierced him through.

"No…" Harry whispered, the understanding of what Snape meant to do, knocking the air from his lungs. "You can't."

Snape looked exactly as livid as he had just before he'd slapped Harry, but Harry didn't move, and after a tense moment, Snape turned sharply away.

"Get out," he snarled. "Get out, before I spell you to sleep."

"No," Harry refused with a tight shake of his head, even as he tried to figure out how to get the vial away from the professor.

"There is nothing you can do." Snape's words were hollow now.

"There _has_ to be," Harry began desperately, as he realized Snape would easily counter an _Accio_. "I can't just let you-"

Snape spun around again, this time, grabbing Harry's shirt in his fist and yanking Harry forward.

"Do you want to know what you're trying to save?" he hissed. "Have you any idea of the sins I have committed, Potter? I am not worth your efforts, you stupid boy."

"I don't care," Harry said hoarsely, as he tried to struggle free of the professor's strangling grip. Snape shook him, hard enough to make Harry feel ill.

"You don't _care_?" he echoed viciously. "Do you _care_ that it is only because of me that your parents are dead?"

Harry froze.

Snape pulled him closer. "It was I who informed the Dark Lord of the contents of the Prophecy."

Harry stared into Snape's ugly black eyes.

And then, just as abruptly as he'd been accosted, Harry was released. He stumbled back, barely catching himself against the side of the table. Snape gazed at him, his eyes empty now.

"So you see, Potter," he said softly, "if not for me, you would still have them."

The words—Snape's entire explanation—wouldn't process. Harry knew he'd heard the words correctly, but they didn't make sense. All he could do was stare at Snape, who seemed smaller somehow… Maybe it was the way he was hunched in on himself. All except that bright yellow potion in the tiny vial—like a shaft of moonlight in an otherwise starless night.

And Snape was lifting it toward his face.

"Leave me," he whispered hoarsely. But Harry couldn't make himself turn away.


	24. And There's No Way of Knowing

**Chapter 24: And There's No Way of Knowing**

Sirius frowned as soon as he opened his eyes—Harry wasn't next to him on the settee. Realizing they must have fallen asleep sometime after their strategy session, Sirius quickly sat up, ignoring the protesting twinges from his muscles.

"Harry?" he called, even as he pushed open the door to the small study off the sitting room—it was as dusty as it always was, _and_ as empty. "Harry?" he called again a little louder as he headed toward the stairs, though he couldn't imagine why Harry would have gone up there with Snape.

He paused at the kitchen when he heard a muffled scraping sound. He pushed open the door and drew in a sharp breath. Harry was sitting on the floor, surrounded by a mess of jagged china.

Crouching down immediately, Sirius gripped his shoulder. "Harry, what's happened?"

Harry looked up, confused to see Sirius in front of him. He shook his head slowly.

"What's the matter?" Sirius demanded, his voice rising in worry. He shook Harry's shoulder lightly; the clouded green eyes finally cleared.

"It was Snape," Harry croaked.

"Snape?" Sirius echoed in confusion. "_What_ was Snape?"

Harry swallowed. He shook his head again; his eyes were shiny now, and his hands were trembling in his lap. "He's the one who told Voldemort the Prophecy…"

Sirius stared at Harry, unsure he'd heard correctly.

"He told me," Harry said miserably, gazing down at his hands as they twisted together. "He told me… so I that wouldn't stop him."

"Stop him from _what_?"

Harry closed his eyes. "From taking a vial of poison…"

Sirius' hand slipped from Harry's shoulder. Stunned, he sank to the floor, barely feeling the sharp edge of china that pierced his leg.

His head swam. He had no idea which horrible pronouncement to address first.

_Snape had been the one… Lily and James…_

_**Poison. **_

Sirius had known the other man might offer to sacrifice himself—but Snape had barely had time to consider it…_ Lily and James… _

_James… _

And Snape had known he and Lily had a son…

The fury that suddenly welled up in Sirius' chest almost blinded him as he imagined wrapping his hands around the other man's neck and strangling him—Snape's eyes bulging out until he stopped breathing.

But Snape wasn't here. Only Harry…

Harry, who was sitting in front of him, looking miserable. It was no wonder…

"Snape poisoned himself?" Sirius finally breathed, the words clumsy.

Harry bowed his head, curling into himself. After a brief silence, he shook his head. Barely. "I left before he could do it."

Sirius curled his quaking fingers into fists. He had no idea what to say. He wanted to scream in frustration that Snape hadn't managed it. But relief overwhelmed him; Harry hadn't had to see Snape kill himself.

"You did just as you should have," Sirius said gently.

Harry opened his eyes. "It's not enough," he said hoarsely.

"You prevented him from taking his own life," Sirius said softly, as neutrally as he could manage. He cleared the floor of littered bits of china with a quick wave of his wand. Pushing himself to his knees, he stood up jerkily. He reached a hand down for Harry, but Harry was staring up at him, studying him almost.

"I have to try to merge the realities," he said quietly.

Sirius nodded, though he couldn't have been more disconnected from the problem of the shifting realities.

"I know." He tugged Harry upward. "We'll have to get more of that potion, and you can rest a bit first; have something to eat before—"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head sharply. "I mean, right _now_. I don't want Snape to have a chance to take that potion again!"

"You can't try it now," Sirius argued as Harry opened his mouth to protest again. "Unless you're willing to give it up at the first sign of trouble."

"We're running of time, Sirius—"

"Maybe you haven't really noticed what it does to you when you try to merge the realities," Sirius interrupted impatiently, "but the first time, your heart rate increased so drastically, we were afraid blood vessels would burst."

"The second time, it wasn't as bad—"

"The_ second_ time, you took Snape's potion and went to sleep," Sirius reminded him, doing his best to keep his tone from betraying his emotions as Harry set his jaw. "We need that Sleeping Potion, Harry… as a safety precaution—"

"I didn't have as much control over the streams when I used the Sleeping potions," Harry told him sharply. "And Snape is ready to _off_ himself. We don't have time to be careful."

"My concern is for _you_, not Snape!"

Harry's eyes snapped.

Sirius breathed deeply to calm himself, shifting as he prepared to explain. "I don't mean Snape should go through with his plan," he tried again, "but he obviously doesn't believe you'll have success in bringing the realities back together otherwise."

"So we're just supposed to let him kill himself?"

"That isn't what I said," Sirius snapped.

Harry looked away.

Sirius closed his eyes briefly, and ran a hand through his hair. "Harry, all I'm asking is that you be sensible about this. Rest for awhile and then we'll try it. Nothing can happen to Snape if you're here, and I'll stun him when you merge the realities together—to give you more time." He tried a smile at his pathetic attempt at humor, but Harry just nodded.

"Fine," he mumbled after a short silence. He stuffed his fists in his pockets before he looked up again. "I think Snape wanted me to hate him," he said thickly. "But even if I do… I can't let him do it."

Sirius' throat ached as he nodded. "No, we can't."

Tentatively, he put a hand between Harry's shoulders. Sighing heavily, Harry leaned forward until his forehead fell against Sirius' chest. Sirius rested his cheek on the top of Harry's head and wound his arm fully round his godson's slumped shoulders. They stood their together as Sirius combed his fingers through the dark hair, both of them lost to their thoughts.

--

Sirius massaged his temples as he stirred the lightly simmering pot of brown soup—one of the only things, besides porridge, that was still in good supply in the pantry.

Harry had been upstairs for the better part of the past hour, resting as Sirius had asked him to do, and since Sirius wasn't certain his godson wouldn't be in the mood for another argument, he was hoping to use the smell of dinner to lure Harry into the kitchen again—and to distract him. But so far, it wasn't working.

Sirius sighed, and pressed his fingertips a little more firmly against the headache gathering behind his eyes. He rested the handle of the spoon against the iron pot. He couldn't be a coward forever, he supposed, and it wasn't as if Harry hadn't agreed to wait until he had at least rested a bit before trying once again to merge the realities—even if he _had_ agreed with rather bad grace.

Though he _had_ accepted Sirius' comfort only moments later without hesitation. Feeling marginally more confident with that realization, Sirius decided that Harry wouldn't be still be feeling moody over the entire subject—the kid was mature beyond even his own years.

After lowering the heat below the bubbling pot, Sirius turned—too swiftly it seemed. A moment of dizziness rolled over him; he caught himself with the edge of the stove. He had to shake his head slowly to regain his equilibrium and when he looked up again, he nearly lost his balance again.

Snape was on his knees on the floor, shaking his head in exactly the same disoriented manner that Sirius just had. Two halves of a glass vial were sitting near the tips of his fingers—in a spreading pool of yellow liquid.

"What the-" Sirius managed to breathe before Snape's acid tone cut him off.

"Where's Potter?"

Sirius snapped his mouth shut on his almost-automatic answer. His fists curled by his side. "Harry told me about the Prophecy."

Snape pushed himself to his feet; Sirius watched him swaying unsteadily. But even as Snape swayed, his sneer stayed firmly in place.

"Shocking," he drawled. "And as much as I'd like to chat with you in detail about my years in the Dark Lord's service, perhaps you should be more concerned that the realities have merged once more."

Sirius glowered at him. "I'm sorry you smashed your potion. All of us would have been better off if you'd succeeded." Snape didn't react. "Get out of my way," Sirius growled.

Snape moved aside without a word. Sirius stalked past him, keeping his threats of bodily harm and gruesome deaths mostly to himself with great difficulty.

Once he was on the stairs, he began to wonder why Harry had not come downstairs—he must have felt the shifting realities as well. Worried now, Sirius took the rest of the step at a jog. Regulus' room was empty, so Sirius went past quickly and veered into his own. His heart nearly stopped beating.

He vaguely heard a low oath behind him as he fell to his knees in front of Harry. Harry, his eyes bright with exertion and sweat dripping down his brow, grimaced back at him.

"Harry," Sirius breathed as he grasped his godson's upper arms in a fierce grip, "what are you doing?"

"Snape," Harry gasped, though he didn't seem to have noticed the other man. "I'm controlling the streams… can't…. take the potion," he gasped out. Snape was suddenly beside Sirius. He was shaking a vial of the Sleeping Potion in front of Harry's face.

"You are being a fool, Potter," Snape hissed. With what looked like a great effort, Harry turned his eyes to his professor.

"I can… control it this… way…"

"You'll kill yourself," Snape snapped; the words chilled Sirius.

He grabbed the vial from Snape's fingers and popped the cork off. "Take it, Harry," he ordered, giving his godson a sharp shake when Harry shook his head jerkily.

"… can do this,"

Sirius could feel Harry's rapidly accelerating heartbeat—already beating at dangerous levels. Harry's face was gray, and his body was beginning to droop.

"Damn it, Harry!" Sirius exploded.

"Spell it into him," Snape hissed from beside him. Sirius fumbled with his wand, and then watched in horror as Harry's hand shot out and sent the vial smashing to the floor. Sirius' head snapped back to Snape.

"Do you have another?"

"No."

Knowing that he was probably bruising Harry's skin, and unable to stop, Sirius' fingers clamped roughly around his godson's biceps, shaking him once more.

"Stop it!" he said furiously.

"He's vital signs are weakening," Snape warned tersely beside him.

"For fuck's sake, Harry, I won't let Snape kill himself!" Sirius said desperately. "You don't have to do this right now!"

"… have… to…" Harry breathed slowly, his lips flaccid. And then his eyes rolled back into his head.

Snape caught him as he crumpled backward.

"Harry!" Sirius cried, moving with his godson as Snape laid Harry against the hard floor. He bent close to Harry's face, instantly relieved at the slow breaths he could feel on his cheek—even as cold as they were. Sirius turned quickly to face Snape, but all hope that Snape had slipped in a Deep Sleeping Spell instantly left him. Snape was staring grimly at Harry.

"What's wrong with him?" Sirius demanded as Snape waved his wand over Harry's quiet form.

"The realities appeared to have overwhelmed him," Snape said. "He is in a coma."

Tears obscured Sirius' vision. He turned back to gaze at his godson—who looked as white as the few men that Sirius had seen in death. "No…"

Snape stirred beside him. "I do not have another vial of poison," he said in a low voice. Sirius looked up sharply. Snape held his wand toward Sirius, the tip pointed toward himself.

Sirius could only stare.

Snape sneered at him, but it did nothing to raise Sirius' hackles.

"You have wanted to do this since we were boys, I think," Snape said coldly. "And even more now, I am certain." He nudged the wand forward. "Potter does not know the vial broke. He never has to know."

Sirius swallowed; his fingers twitched against Harry's forehead—ached to reach forward and take Snape's offer. He glanced down at his godson; his fringe had fallen into his eyes. Sirius brushed it aside softly.

"No," he finally whispered. "Harry…" he had to swallow again as he shook his head, "… he wouldn't want me to."

He looked up again. Snape's lips had parted—only slightly and as soon as he found Sirius' gaze, they pressed together again. "You are a fool."

Sirius didn't answer as he turned back to his godson.

--

Harry could feel the streams as they poured over him; moving upward too swiftly for him to get away. His arms flailed as he tried to drive himself upward, above the water. But it was no use. The water rushed faster and faster until he was pushed down with the force of it—completely submerged beneath its weight.

Harry closed his eyes; his lungs felt like they were being crushed. Even though he knew there really wasn't any water—it was all in his mind. These rushes of hot water, contrasting sharply with the icy sensations.

But even thought it wasn't real, he was drowning… could feel the realities slipping away, just as quickly as Sirius' furious, terrified face had vanished from right in front of him.

And all that was left was the water.

Hot and cold writhing around him.

Two separate realities wanting his attention, even as they tried to merge together—to snuff the other out, or kill Harry trying.

Frigid water, close by his feet—he could feel it; shivered with it.

Warmth near his face, enveloping him.

Separate. He could sense them. Feel them as if they were alive—a part of him.

Cold water brushing his knee—not nearly as cold as Snape's reality. And heat twining his neck like a noose.

Four distinct streams….

Dozens more….

…. thousands.

All of them merging together to form the vast ocean… reality as it was supposed to be.

And Harry could sense each individual stream. Each individual person. They were all here.

He let the water glide through his fingers, caressing it.

Each stream a separate life.

He wouldn't allow Snape's to be crushed by the others—or to slip away as fate had ordered. _He_ was in control here, he realized.

He wasn't drowning. He was guiding these waters—these streams… these _lives_.

It was ironic, Harry realized with a languorous smile. _Your life is in my hands,_ Snape had told him, that very first day in the infirmary after he'd awoken from Umbridge's curse. But Snape could not have been more wrong. Snape's life was in Harry's hands—very literally as Harry brushed his fingers through the icy jet.

All of their lives were in Harry's hands.

Every single person…

Harry smiled. Fate was _his_ to determine now.

He flipped himself toward the deep ocean. And with determined strokes, Harry went to find Voldemort.


	25. Where the End is Going to Be

**Chapter 25: Where the End is Going to Be**

Severus watched Black as he huddled over Potter; listened as he babbled nonsensical words to the boy.

Black's fingers were trembling against Potter's shoulder; the hand aimlessly patting in jerky movements.

And Severus knew an urge to grab Black's hand and still the frenetic movements; instead, he pulled back, away from the storm of raw emotion emanating from the other man.

And so he sat, eyes watching Potter's face for signs of movement. The boy could not remain this way—not if Potter was going to destroy Voldemort, as he must do.

And yes, there was indeed a solution, and if Black would not interfere it would likely work.

Severus pulled his wand from his sleeve. "I will enter his mind once more. It may be possible to for… _persuade_ him to leave."

Black didn't even look up. "I'll come with you."

Severus narrowed his eyes, quickly calculating the odds of success with Black along to coddle Potter. "Someone must monitor his vital signs," he finally said. "Entering his mind will not be without danger to him."

Black barely hesitated before he nodded.

Severus wasted no time in putting his wand up to Potter's temple, lest Black change his mind. "Legilimens," Severus said curtly, and left Black to his vigil.

Severus was immediately caught up in powerful currents as he entered Potter's mind. Assuming that Potter was drowning, Severus allowed himself to be pulled along, scanning the churning waters carefully. And he soon found Potter, but rather than flailing in the torrents, Potter was swimming. With uncustomary purpose.

_Potter! Where are you going?_

Potter didn't even glance at him as Severus came up alongside him.

_Looking for Voldemort._

Perplexed, Severus stayed with Potter, who began swimming faster. _The Dark Lord?_ he echoed. _Explain_, he ordered when Potter ignored him.

_I can feel individual streams. _

Severus eyed Potter, who seemed determined to keep his eyes focused ahead. _Mine and Black's?_

_All of them. There are millions of streams. And I can feel each one. _

Severus absorbed the explanation. _Each is distinct?_

_Yes._

Severus' eyes narrowed in surprise_. You can sense whose consciousness belongs to each one? Sense the Dark Lord among them?_

_No. _Potter's strokes become more forceful._ But it doesn't matter. I'll find him. _

_Why?_

Potter finally glanced at him, though he didn't slow his pace. _I can get rid of him._

_How? _

Potter looked away. _I don't know._

_You don't know?_ Severus scowled at Potter's profile; he was attacking the water with each slice of his arms. _Potter!_

Potter ignored him.

Impatience finally overtaking him, Severus grabbed Potter's elbow, abruptly stilling his repetitive motions. Potter tried to shake him off, but Severus had no trouble overpowering him.

Potter's green eyes blazed. _Let go of me._

_Why are you suddenly so eager to find the Dark Lord? _

_I told you. I can get rid of him. _Potter had stopped struggling, but Severus didn't loosen his hold.

_How do you plan to distinguish the Dark Lord's stream among an entire ocean? _Potter had no answer. Relentless, Severus pressed_, If you can find him, how are you going to get rid of him?_

Potter jerked his arm away. _I don't know, all right? _

Severus narrowed his eyes, studying the determined set to Potter's jaw. _Why do you need to destroy the Dark Lord?_

Potter stared at him in cloying silence. He looked away as he answered. _Security. To make sure there's room for you. _

_I told you already_, Potter, Severus answered shortly. _I will fix-_

Potter spun sharply around to look at him. _You can't kill yourself!_

Severus did not react to Potter's outburst, which seemed to aggravate the young man further.

_I know you think I'm some selfish, spoiled little prat, but you really thought I'd just stand there and let you drink poison?!_

_I thought_, Severus retorted snidely, _that you would show a modicum of sense for once. There is no other solution-_

_There has to be_, Potter shot right back. He glared for a second longer and then shook his head, looking disgusted._ I'm going to find Voldemort._

Severus grabbed Potter's wrist before he could swim off, not squeezing hard enough to break bones—but hard enough to make Potter flinch. Severus did not relent. _Listen carefully_, he said coldly. _You have no idea how to destroy the Dark Lord's stream. You may very well be killing yourself._

Potter sneered at him, which made Severus' temper flare; he jerked the boy toward him.

_Whether or not I am indeed nothing better than a puppet, as you termed me, I made a vow to the headmaster. I have not kept it all these years, just to see you kill yourself_.

Instead of trying to pull away, Potter pressed his face close to Severus'. _You think you're the only one who's allowed to sacrifice himself? Just because you were responsible for my parents' deaths, doesn't mean I'll just let you die-_

Severus flung Lily's son away from him. _Let me?_ he parroted acidly. _It is not your choice, Potter. I entered your mind to end this little hero's stunt you've taken on._

_It's not a hero's stunt! How could it be when I hate you?! __But I'm not going to wait around and do nothing while you off yourself!_

_I should have died_, Severus stressed, his lips stretched thinly. _I should __**already**__ be dead. _

_Well, you aren't_, Potter retorted. _And since you aren't, there must be a reason._

_Yes, there is_, Severus sneered. _You interfered._

_Well, I didn't mean to_, Potter snapped, _if that makes you feel any better._

Severus had no answer to that. It did not make him feel better.

Potter sighed, and ran a hand through his untidy hair. _Look_, _I just don't think killing yourself is the only way to fix this_. _You can't really want to die._

_My own wishes mean nothing.._ They never had.

_Well, they should_, Potter said simply. He gestured vaguely. _Especially now that you don't have to report to Voldemort any longer. You can do anything you want now._

_Is that so?_ _What other purpose would you imagine I could serve? _Severus asked snidely, the words leaving his tongue before he could stop them. He bared his teeth at Potter, hoping it would intimidate the boy enough that he would not answer.

Potter stared at him for too long. _Is that why you're so eager to die? Because without Voldemort or Dumbledore around, you think you have no purpose?_

_I am not here for an analysis_. _And we have no more time for this redundant conversation. _

_I'm not leaving_. Potter crossed his arms over his chest. _Dumbledore wanted you to train me, didn't he?_

Severus' lip curled. _Are you attempting to trick me into agreeing that I must live?_

Potter shrugged. _I doubt that would work_, he said seriously. _But that's what Dumbledore wanted, wasn't it? __**That**__ and to keep me safe so that I would be able to defeat Voldemort?_

_And so I have_. Severus refused to allow this smarmy child to outsmart him.

_If I don't to find Voldemort now, I'll have to face him out there._

_Ah yes,_ _I see now why the headmaster always insisted you were such a clever child._

Potter's relaxed stance did not falter. _I'm clever enough to realize that I need to be trained if I want to have a chance against Voldemort._

_Your godfather is not wizard enough?_

Potter gazed back at Severus, unperturbed. _Do you really think Sirius can prepare me to meet Voldemort? He said himself that there wasn't anyone better than you to teach me. _

_There are others, you realize_, Severus reminded him derisively. _Any of the Order members would surely trip over themselves in their eagerness to assist-_

_Are any of them as capable as you though, Professor?_

Severus glared at the young man in front of him. _Your attempts at manipulation-_

_I'm not trying to manipulate you_, Potter interrupted forcefully. _I'm asking you to really think about this. I'll still have to defeat Voldemort if you die. Dumbledore asked you to help me because he knew you could. I'm asking you to help me, Professor. Help me do what I have to do._

Severus stared at Potter, unwilling to allow himself to believe that this plea was anything but another manipulation. Even the sincerity in Potter's eyes would not convince him otherwise. He would be a tool in the same way he had always been for both Albus and the Dark Lord. Potter did not truly care whether he lived or died.

It was impossible.

_I cannot train you if you are in a coma. _

Potter did not react to his scathing words. _I can feel the streams_, he said, repeating his earlier words. _It's hard to explain, but I'm controlling them. I can feel your stream, tangled around me. I don't think I'll have to let it go when I wake up._

_You don't think? _

_Well, I won't know unless I try it, _Potter said reasonably. He shifted his stance, his jaw showing its familiar stubborn line._ I don't think there's anything you can do to stop me._ He narrowed his eyes_. Because I can control the streams, Professor._ He pointed in the direction from where they had just come. _Sirius' stream is there._

_Your point?_

Potter didn't answer. He closed his eyes; his lips pressed tightly together for a long minute. And then he opened his eyes again. _It's here now—beside me. _

_You brought Black's stream to you?_ Severus demanded, unable to still his surprise.

Harry shrugged. _I told you; I can recognize it. _

_And you believe you could do the same with the Dark Lord's stream--if you can find it?_

_Yes. _

_And do you have any idea how to destroy it?_

_I can manip-_

_Manipulation is not the same as destruction. _

Potter's superior stance faltered.

_I will make a bargain with you, Potter_, Severus said, his voice lowering to draw the boy's attention. _I will assist with your effort to extract me—whole—from this place._ _And if we can discover how you manipulate the streams, I will help you find the means to destroy the Dark Lord. _

To his credit, Potter's nod was wary.

_But if you fail to extract me now_, Severus said simply, _you will allow me die--as I should have._

Potter stared at him. And then he nodded jerkily.

_I will keep you to your word_, Potter, Severus warned. Potter swallowed but he didn't argue.

_Take my hand_. Severus' lips pinched in distaste, but he did as asked. Potter gripped his hand tightly, and closed his eyes.

The ocean waters began to churn. They rolled and bucked, spinning Severus and Potter with them. Severus began spiraling, feeling as though he was caught in a whirling vortex.

He could feel a pressure—a pulling against his very being; Potter attempting to force his stream back to the merged realities. And though Severus wanted to obey the pressure, he knew he should remain here—leave his conscious behind in this place so that the realities would merge again.

_No!_ Potter cried out as Severus was spun away from him. And then Severus was alone—drowning in the currents.

But the pressure increased again, willing Severus forward through the frenzied water. The currents—and some part of Severus—fought back against the pull. Back and forth, Potter and Fate battled. And they would, until one crushed the other.

_--_

Sirius watched helplessly as Harry continued to writhe beside him. And then, his eyes still closed, Harry took a gasping breath.

His eyelids fluttered.

Sirius gripped his godson's clammy hand. "Harry?"

Harry's eyes slowly opened; a drop of sweat trailed from his fringe. "Sirius," Harry whispered, his fingers curling around Sirius', "is he here?" He swallowed. "Did he… make it?"

Sirius frowned, even as he brushed a worried thumb over Harry's cheek. "Who?"

"Snape," Harry croaked. "I can control the streams… I can keep the realities together now. I tried to bring Snape back with me."

Sirius had no idea what Harry was talking about. "He's right here," Sirius said, nodding his head toward Snape, who had come back to himself only a moment ago—after a very odd few minutes of fading in and out while Harry had flailed.

Harry turned his head sharply toward Snape.

Snape stared unperturbedly back at him. "Congratulations, Potter," he said dryly, "you are now, not only the Boy Who Lived, but also the Boy Who Controls Fate."

Harry actually grinned. "We did it," he said excitedly, though he was breathing heavily as he turned back to Sirius. Sirius turned his gaze from Snape, completely confused. Harry was struggling to sit up. Sirius grasped his arms and helped him until he was upright. "Sirius, you're both here! I did it!"

Sirius had no idea what either of them was talking about—except that Harry had almost gotten himself killed. Sirius' fingers tightened against his godson's arms. "If you _ever_ do something like that again," he began fiercely, but his stern voice wobbled and instead of finishing the threat, he pulled Harry to him, holding his godson so tightly that he probably couldn't even breathe. . "My God Harry, I have no idea what I'd do without you."

He fought against tears of relief as Harry hugged him just as tight, not quite winning and then Sirius glanced over Harry's mop of black hair—at Snape who was slowly getting to his feet. "Thank you," he said quietly. Snape, after what seemed an eternity, inclined his head.

Sirius nodded shakily, pressed his lips into Harry's damp hair, and decided not to allow Harry out of his sight ever again.

They sat there for a long time—long after Snape had shuffled from the room, his wand trembling in pale fingers. They sat there until Sirius realized he wasn't going to feel any less cross with his godson; no matter that he had never been prouder of anyone. He pulled Harry to arm's length. Harry blinked up at him, the bloodshot eyes telling their own story of battles waged and lost.

"Have you any idea of how foolish that was?" Sirius demanded softly. "You could have been killed. Not to mention that you promised me that you would wait."

"I know…"

"You didn't."

Harry chewed his bottom lip as his eyes flicked to the bed and then back to Sirius' face. "I'm sorry," he said thickly. He swallowed, his voice its normal timbre when he spoke again, "I really am… But I couldn't let Snape die."

Sirius sighed, almost ready to let his exhausted godson off the hook. "I know," he agreed with a nod. "Which is why I'm not scolding you right now."

Harry opened his mouth, promptly snapped it shut again when Sirius raised both eyebrows. Harry's lips quirked. "Thanks," he said. Sirius nodded. He didn't smile though, instead planting his palms on Harry's shoulder.

"Don't lie to me again," he said seriously. Harry immediately flushed. "I meant what I said downstairs," Sirius went on before he could protest. "I will help you; with anything you need to do. Saving Snape was included in that promise."

Sirius' gaze was unrelenting and properly chastised now, Harry nodded. "Sorry," he mumbled, the blush darkening his cheeks again.

Sirius smiled gently and gripped his shoulders, eliciting a less mirthful smile from his godson this time. And then it was with considerable effort that Sirius pushed himself up. As soon as he was steady, he gave Harry a hand up, cinching him round the waist when it looked like he was going to topple.

Harry blew out a breath as they finally dropped onto Sirius' bed. He looked around the room and asked in some surprise, "Where did Snape go?"

Pain was radiating throughout most of Sirius' body but he managed to grimace through it and shake his head. "Downstairs, I suppose."

Harry was grimacing as well. "You don't think he'll do something stupid, do you?"

Sirius glanced at the door, through which Snape had exited only a few moments ago and then back to study Harry's features. "He seemed considerably more cheerful than when we came up here together."

"I almost couldn't convince him to come with me," Harry said, ending that remark with a yawn. "I had to tell him he was the only one who could train me…"

Sirius smiled at Harry's waggling eyebrows.

"He has no idea how clever you are, I don't think," Harry said through another yawn. Sirius shrugged and gave his godson a gentle push toward the pillow.

"I did tell you that there's no one better to teach you about the Dark Arts." Another little nudge; firmer this time. "Lie back before you tumble right onto the floor."

Harry let his head hit the pillow with a smirk. "Done that a few times lately, haven't I?"

"Yes," Sirius agreed with a chuckle as he slid Harry's glasses away from his face. "Quite enough times, if you don't mind."

Harry smiled as he toed off his shoes. "Not sure I can sleep, you know," he said as Sirius drew the blanket up to his chest. "Not even sure what it feels like to sleep any longer."

"I'm fairly certain that once you close your eyes, it'll sort itself out," Sirius told him as he resettled himself on the foot of the bed, even though he wanted nothing more than to sleep for at least three days. But Harry's green eyes were bright—confirming that sleep was elusive just now.

"Snape's stream is here now," Harry said, tapping his temple with two fingers. "That's what I meant when I said I brought the streams together. I'm keeping him here. It's not difficult," he rushed to add when Sirius frowned. "I can tell I'm doing it… like half my brain is concentrating on something else besides talking to you."

Sirius leaned forward, as if he'd be able to see what was going on inside Harry's head. "But how will you be able to keep that up? It'll exhaust you-"

"I don't think so. And I think I can keep practicing with it. That's what Snape is going to help me with." Harry tried to stifle a yawn and couldn't quite manage it. "There are millions of streams… all making up that ocean we saw." His eyes began to water as he caught another broad yawn. "We're going to find Voldemort…"

Sirius stared at him, but he had to swallow all of his questions. Harry's eyelids were growing heavy.

"Go to sleep," Sirius murmured as Harry struggled to open his eyes. "You'll tell me all about it when you wake up."

Harry smiled lazily. "'mkay..."

Sirius smiled to himself as he watched sleep claim his godson for the first time in weeks—real sleep. Sleep that would finally erase those dark smudges under Harry's eyes, take the rickety stress out of his steps. And finally allow Sirius to breathe again.

--

Sirius grinned as Harry fired a particularly powerful Blasting Curse.

"Even better than the last one," Sirius told him, smiling proudly at the obliterated target. Harry grinned over his shoulder before turning back to the next target. He shifted his stance a little bit so that he could get a better aim.

"This one'll be even better," he said as he tilted his head and squinted at his target.

"You confidence will undermine you, Potter."

Harry glanced over at Snape. "It _will_ be better though," he said, giving the man a challenging smile. In response, Snape glared at him.

"Well then?" he demanded. "We don't have all day."

"Then maybe you should stop interrupting him," Sirius suggested. Snape didn't answer, though he did glare at the target pointedly. Harry twisted back around and true to his word, the target was reduced to dust seconds later.

"We will need to work on your stance," Snape told Harry, going over to inspect the damage. "Focus the curse," he admonished, "and you will do even more damage."

Sirius came up on Harry's other side. "I don't think Harry's opponent will be complaining that he wasn't blasted to small enough bits," he said, peering down in admiration at the result of Harry's hard work.

"His stance will matter more if he is dueling a flesh and blood opponent," Snape returned. To Harry he said, "You will do it again, and you will focus this time. We will work on your mental exercises next."

From what Sirius could understand from the rather complicated conversations over the last several days, Harry and Snape were looking for Voldemort inside the vast ocean that Harry visualized as reality. And using techniques that seemed uncomfortably like the Imperius Curse to Sirius, Harry could manipulate the streams. It was how he'd forced Snape to follow him out of Harry's mind.

And it was how Harry kept the streams together—despite the fact that Snape was decidedly not dead—and with each nightly session, Harry's control of the vast ocean grew. Enough that keeping the realities together was second nature to Harry now—as natural as breathing.

Sirius looked up as Harry sighed; Snape was correcting his stance once more.

"I _am_ trying," Harry insisted.

"It's nearly dinner," Sirius interjected, mildly, stepping in between them and putting an arm round Harry's shoulder. "You can try it again after we eat. You'll be able to focus better that way."

Snape, though he looked annoyed, didn't bother to argue.

"My stance is better than it was two days ago," Harry pointed out as he and Sirius turned toward the kitchen.

"Perhaps if you explain to the Dark Lord that you've tried your best, he will have mercy on you," Snape drawled from behind them.

Harry chuckled at that. He paused as Sirius pushed open the kitchen door, turning to look at Snape. "Want to help us with dinner?" he asked casually. Sirius tried to hide his smile at the look of surprise on Snape's thin face.

Sirius and Harry had been making all the meals since Harry had merged the realties. Both of them enjoyed the time together, especially as Order members had begun to come and go as they had before the realities had split—Voldemort's threat had only increased as Harry's power continued to grow.

Snape's surprise didn't last long; and then his features were blank once more. "I must study the texts before we begin our next session," he answered, as if Harry's question had been nothing out of the ordinary.

"Well, if you want a break, we have a whole pile of potatoes to peel," Harry said with a half-smile.

"I am not a house-elf, Potter." Snape turned back to the old texts—taken from the Black family library, leaving Harry and Sirius to their self-appointed task.

"That was very kind of you to offer," Sirius said as he tossed a potato to Harry.

Harry plucked it from the air as it came toward him. "Think he'll ever get lonely enough to actually take me up on it?"

"We'll cut our work nearly in half if he does," Sirius said, making a face at the mound of potatoes; there was an Order meeting during dinner.

Harry grinned and together, he and Sirius set to work.

**The End**

~*~

**Author's Notes: The story will continue in Imperio, the second part of _The Unforgiveables_ trilogy. A huge thank you to JadeSullivan for all you've done to make this story what it is. It's a very different story than it was meant to be, and thanks to Jade, I'm thrilled with what its become. So, if you've enjoyed this story at all, thank her too. Brilliant lady, she is. **


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